As We Go
by Ariane Rivendell
Summary: Captain Hank Stanley experiences severe emotional trauma that leaves him wrestling with a life-altering decision.
1. Chapter 1

"_Emergency!"_ characters are the property of Mark VII and Universal. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters belong to me and may be used only with permission.

**A/N:** *****_Title taken from_ _one lyric version of_ _"Taps"._

**"As We Go…"***

**(Band of Brothers)**

by Ariane Rivendell

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><p>The air horn blasted as Garrison "Dee" Deitrich backed the Engine up the driveway and into Los Angeles County Fire Department Station 51's empty apparatus bay.<p>

A-shift's Engineer Mike Stoker and Captain Hank Stanley trailed out of the office to watch the Engine crew of C-shift return. The Squad crew of C-shift had been on another call when the Engine crew got called out. The Squad had since returned, but been toned out not long after A-shift's roll call, sending Johnny and Roy on their first call of the morning.

"You guys are late," Captain Stanley joked, bouncing on his heels.

"_Hooowee!_ Glad to be home. That was a helluva run, but a whole lotta fun." Dietrich called down from the cab, smirking at Mike and Hank.

"Garrison, sometimes it's a pleasure serving with you. But most of the time, it's a real headache." Captain Hookrader of C-shift unclawed his barrel-chested, grinning engineer, opened the cab door and stepped out.

"I do what I can 'cause it's all in the plan, Cap," Dee called after him.

Hookrader made his way over to Stanley and shook his head. "Ai yai… You see what I gotta put up with every shift?"

"You oughta work with this one," Stanley jibed after Mike.

"If you need a ride, I'm your guide," Mike deadpanned.

"Oh, don't you start," Hookrader made a face at Stoker before turning his attention to Captain Stanley.

"You see what I mean?" Hank responded, winking at his engineer out of Hookrader's sight. Mike smiled back at his captain as they shared the joke.

Lineman Gavin Platko jumped off the Engine and trumped over to the locker room, singing "Our shift is done, gone to have some fun…" Charlie Wilson ran after his shift mate to the locker room and a yell with epithets and hearty laughter was heard soon after.

The dark-haired, mustachioed C-shift engineer looked down from the cab at his A-shift counterpart, his expression turning serious. "Hey, Mike, I think we musta run something over when we left that last scene, just now."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, she was handling fine on the way over. But on the way back, I don't know, the transmission seemed a little flaky. She could shift, fine, but…I don't know, Stokes, just be careful, huh?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dee."

"You bet." He caught sight of Mike inspecting Big Red out of the mirror and curled out the window to see him better.

"Hey, Hey," Dietrich scolded. "I know how to take care of my baby. Besides, you know she prefers me over you."

"Not with the way I see you handle her."

"You might stroke her, Stoker, but I can make her scream." The air horn went off again.

"Hey! Knock that off!" Hookrader spun around, glaring, his hands on his hips.

"Garrison! Not in the bay, huh?" Captain Stanley threw Deitrich a dark look as the two captains conferred. Hookrader waved him off and shook his head.

"Sorry, Caps." The C-shift engineer swung down from the cab, a smile tugging at his lips.

"What's this long scratch over here?" Mike pointed to a long, noticeable yellow mark near the driver's side wheel-well beneath the white strip on the cab.

"Some dweeb at 29s wasn't watching where he was going and scratched up my girl with the ladder."

Mike grimaced. _Great._ _Hope fixing that's not gonna interfere with_…

Mike felt a gentle swat on his shoulder, "Hey, Mikey, I gotta go. Return without a burn, alright?"

"Will do."

The two engineers exchanged a club handshake and Dee followed his shift mates into the locker room, his whistling echoing throughout the bay.

Marco sauntered out from the dorms, looked around for some kind of commotion and spotted Mike. "Hey, what's with the air horn going off?"

"Dee's fooling around. Hey, lookit this," he pointed to the scratch on the door.

Marco felt it. "Aw, you're kidding! You gonna have time to fix that up?"

Stoker shrugged and turned to see the Squad backing in and the captains heading to the office, trying to get out of its way.

"Hope so. Where's Chet?"

"Kitchen. Oh good, Johnny and Roy are back."

"Yup. So we're still on target?"

"You betcha! Just waitin' for C-shift to empty out of there."

Johnny slipped out of the Squad, looked around, and ducked over to the two firefighters. "Hey guys, we miss anything?"

"Nope. But Mike's gotta fix this scratch, so you guys might have to take over. So you'd better get started on your end," Marco advised.

"Be careful. Hookrader's still here."

"They just got back?" Johnny asked.

Lopez nodded toward the back of the bay, "Yeah. G, Dee, and C are still in the locker room."

"Okay." The junior paramedic beamed and was gone.

Marco smiled. "I'm afraid to say it, but I think we might just be able to pull this off."

Stoker nodded. "Yup. It might just all come together."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
><strong>

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><p>~ (<em>a half hour later<em>) ~ 

"No no no no no no no no…don't go in there," Marco Lopez ran after his captain and stopped him in the doorway to the bathroom.

Captain Stanley halted and slowly turned back to his lineman with a very dark expression, "What am I supposed to do, then, Marco? Use the lawn?"

Lopez made a face, "Sorry, Cap, what I mean is, don't use the urinal by the wall."

Stanley straightened to his full height and he threw his subordinate a look of indignation.

The Hispanic looked appropriately abashed. "Chet's trying to set up a joke on Johnny. We're trying not to use it until then."

"In the _latrine?_"

Marco threw his captain a sympathetic look.

Cap sighed. "Alright. Well, what if John goes to use it?" _I can't believe I just asked that…_

"Oh, we told him it's out of order," Marco's eyes lit up.

"Okay, well just don't wait all day to spring it, alright? I don't want this station turned into a 24-hour Fun House."

"Aye aye, Cap," Marco replied. As Captain Stanley made his way in, Marco turned toward his hiding partner-in-crime, Mike Stoker, and gave a thumb's-up.

Stoker relayed the signal to Johnny, standing outside the sleeping quarters, who relayed the signal across the truck bay to Roy who was standing at the door to the Captain's office.

"Go, Chet," Roy said.

Chet Kelly swept the office like mad, squirmed to get into every nook and cranny, under the desk and chairs and all the corners. Roy craned his neck over the squad and engine, double-checking they were clear.

"Almost done," Chet whispered, struggling to corral all the dust, hair, leaves, and errant staples and paper clips into one pile.

Roy heard Gage cough.

"Chet, sweep it under the Squad," Roy whispered. "We'll pick it up later." As both men heard Cap's footsteps crossing the bay, Chet rocked the broom handle to the senior paramedic, who deftly slid rubbish and broom underneath the Squad.

Chet, whistling, casually exited the office with a couple of forms and handed one to Roy as Cap came upon them. "Thanks, Chet," Roy said, scrutinizing the form.

"It was the vacation form you wanted, right?"

"Yeah, it was. Thanks." The firemen, looking focused on the forms in their hands made their way toward the kitchen. Cap passed them, ignoring their banter, and headed inside the office.

DeSoto and Kelly stopped at the kitchen door and turned back toward the office, looking at each other with trepidation. Tense moments followed as they waited…silence…

Finally, quiet smiles and pats on the back were exchanged between the two firefighters.

"Success!" came a hushed voice at their backs. Both men jumped.

"Jesus Christ, Johnny, you scared us half to death!" Chet hissed, sagging against the wall.

Roy laid a hand on the Squad and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"C'mon, let's get the broom," he said, moving to the other side of the Squad and settling on his belly to retrieve the handle. Johnny got the duster and they dispensed with the dust pile.

"Where's Mike and Marco?" Chet asked.

"Taking care of the latrine," Johnny answered. "So all that's left is the kitchen," Johnny smiled in triumph, putting his hands on his hips…

…which quickly hovered in the air at the klaxons as Johnny listened.

"_Station 51, woman trapped in elevator. Green Palms Apartments. 5664 Trinity Road. 5-6-6-4 Trinity Road. Cross street, Castor. Time out: 8:52."_

The crew scurried to the vehicles. Chet turned in his seat at Mike before Cap clambered in. "Hey, Mike, didja bring it?"

Mike threw him a mischievous grin before keying the engine.

"That's my man." Kelly straightened the collar on his turnout coat exchanging a scheming grin with Marco. 


	3. Chapter 3

_~ (lunchtime) ~_

"Cap!" Chet shouted out the kitchen door.

"Yeah?" Cap poked his head out of the office.

"Phone call. It's your wife. She says it's important."

"Yeah, alright, I'll take it in here."

Chet, neck craned out the door toward the vehicle bay doors, motioned behind him as he hung up the line.

Quiet commotion erupted as the A-shift crew of station 51 bustled about the kitchen, spot-cleaning, mopping, and wiping.

"How long d'you think he'll be?" Marco asked, rubbing down the counter as his famous chili was bubbling on the stove.

Roy was cleaning the windows. "She said she could keep him on the line for a good ten to fifteen minutes."

"We just have to hope we don't get another call," Marco replied.

"Yeah, that's the only variable we can't control," Roy agreed.

"Better make this fast, then, gentlemen," Kelly declared, wiping down the table. "Mike, how's it coming? You didn't get any of that red paint in there, didja?"

The engineer was at the counter frosting the cake he'd been hiding in the oven and shot Kelly a look. "Yeah, Chet. In fact I'm using the same brush," he wiggled the utensil in his hand.

"Let me remind you, Stoker my boy, you're in on this, too. If I go down, you go down."

"But they'd never believe _I_ was ever in on it."

Chet paused and deflated. "You know what? I think you're right."

Mike grinned, "I need a few more minutes."

"Candles!" Chet proclaimed, suddenly alarmed.

"I hid 'em in the back of the cabinet," Johnny answered, mopping underneath the couch. "Behind the big pot."

Chet Kelly squirmed underneath Mike Stoker's feet and rummaged in the cabinet for the candles. Finding them, he squeezed himself out and joined Mike, casting a wary gaze at Johnny. Kelly leaned in toward Stoker, peering at the cake. "Which one is it?"

"This one. I marked it. It's pre-cut."

A sinister smile spread across Chet's features and he patted the engineer on the shoulder. "Mike, you have no idea how much you're loved."

Stoker chuckled, shook his head and returned to the cake.

The Irishman leaned his head out toward the office then came back in, looking freaked. "Guys! I heard the phone hang up and the chair scrape back!"

Standing frozen for a moment, Johnny passed the mop to a stunned Chet and ran out of the kitchen.

Moments later, they could hear Cap cough, then footsteps coming toward the kitchen from the office. Chet rolled the mop bucket behind the door, hiding with it against the wall. Stoker hurried to put the cake back in the oven as Roy and Marco scurried to throw rags and cleaning supplies in whatever nook and cranny was available.

Johnny was whistling his way back to the kitchen.

Cap and Gage reached the kitchen door, "Oh, hey, Cap," they heard Johnny say. "Can you come take a look at this?"

"What's up, John?"

"Well, I was—. Come, let me show you."

And their footsteps faded toward the back area. Stoker retrieved the cake and started planting the candles. Chet quickly rolled the mop and bucket out of the kitchen; Marco and Roy on his heels with the hastily gathered rags and cleaning supplies and they dumped everything in the storage closet.

As they returned, Stoker had the cake on the table and was lighting the candles.

"Is that everything?" Lopez looked around.

"Think so," Chet answered, following suit. Mike and DeSoto gathered the plates and utensils and set the table.

Footsteps and voices from the vehicle bay were getting closer. "…I think it'll hold out for a little while longer, but, yeah, I think you're right, John. We'll have to replace that rack at some point," came Cap's voice near the door.

As he and Johnny entered the kitchen, the engine and squad crews of station 51's A-shift erupted into a chorus of "Happy Anniversary!" singing, not entirely, out of key.

Captain Hank Stanley, blushing, looked at his caroling crew and just shook his head. Applause and cheers erupted from his men. Despite his best efforts, Cap couldn't help but beam with pride and love for his guys, glancing at each one in turn.

"You've now, officially, been our Captain for five years!" Chet said.

"And for your anniversary present, Cap, everything's been given the Hookrader treatment and cleaned spotless," Marco reported.

"Without being told," Kelly elucidated, triumphantly, with nods of agreement from his brothers.

Hank's eyebrow rose. "Is _that_ why you guys've been scurrying around here, lately? Thought you were getting ready to dump on poor John, here. Looks like my boys are all grown up," Cap feigned tears.

The crew laughed.

Stanley eyed his men, suspiciously. "Alright, so which one of you had the idea to have my wife call?"

"Mike! It was Mike!" came the ragged chorus. Stoker ducked as Cap threw him a fake punch, his fist landing on the engineer's arm and he shook the guilty firefighter by the neck.

His eyes landed on Gage. "Nice distraction with the drying rack."

Laughter filled the kitchen.

"Quick thinking on Johnny's part. We weren't _quite_ ready when you got off the phone," Roy smiled.

"I can't believe you guys pulled it off. Thank you, this is…this is really nice. Real nice."

"Well, Cap, make a wish," Roy offered.

"For an anniversary?"

"Why not?"

"Yeah, ok," Cap agreed, getting into the spirit of it all. "Why not, indeed. Here goes." He closed his eyes for a moment then blew out the candles. One stubborn candle relit, but Cap quickly took care of that to the cheers of his men. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving! Marco?"

"Step into my kitchen, fellas," Marco invited, gesturing to the chili.

As usual, a Marco chili meal was a feast in and of itself, and the men of station 51 had managed to enjoy it with only a minor call for the Squad to interrupt them. The paramedics returned just in time for cake.

"We waited till you returned to start in with dessert," Cap announced as the pair wandered back into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Cap, appreciate it," Roy aimed for his seat.

"Alright!" Gage rubbed his hands together.

Chet was cutting the cake. "Well I can't believe we haven't had a call all day," he said, scooping pieces for Cap and Roy.

"Whaddya mean? We've been out twice, already," Marco pointed out.

"I mean firefightin'. Both calls were for rescue support. We haven't been to one fire, yet."

"Well don't jinx it, Chet," Johnny warned.

"Well how is my saying it aloud gonna jinx anything? Will my voice suddenly light up all the matches in Los Angeles?"

"Yeah, with your hot air," Johnny sniggered.

Kelly threw him a look.

"See, it's like baseball," Mike said as Chet handed him a piece of cake.

"Baseball?"

"Yeah. You never ever say the pitcher is having a perfect game. You either notice it or you don't. But you don't ever say it. Cause then you jinx it."

"Well, you guys can hang on to your superstitions. I'm gonna have some cake." Chet finally gave a corner piece to Marco, a piece to Johnny then made his own plate.

"Mm, fantastic cake, Mike," Cap complimented the engineer, who raised his fork in thanks.

"Yeah, this is excellent," Roy agreed.

Johnny looked at his piece, frowned, and stared at Marco's. "Hey Marco, you wanna trade?"

Lopez threw the younger paramedic a suspicious grimace. "Why, what's wrong with yours?"

"Nothing. I just like the corner pieces."

Marco sighed. "Fine," and he traded pieces with his beaming station mate.

Chet, leaning against the counter behind Johnny, watched the eager paramedic with a studied eye.

Station 51's youngest bit excitedly into his piece. And his face fell. Features twisting in disgust, he made for the sink and started spitting. "Peas? Oh…God!"

Captain Hank Stanley threw his head back and roared with laughter. Chet gave the smiling Stoker a thumbs-up as Roy and Marco nearly choked, laughing.

"Hold on, a second," Cap tried to finish swallowing the piece he'd been chewing, "So you guys really _had_ been preparing for a big joke on John, here."

"That was part of the ruse, Cap," Marco elucidated. "We had to come up with some kind of explanation to keep you out of certain places at certain times while we cleaned everything right under your nose. Even John was in on that."

"The joke on Johnny was the _cake_," Stoker added.

"Knowing he would least expect it," Chet needled.

"Well, now, hold on a minute—!" Gage's incredulous expression with chocolate frosting all over his mouth was the last straw.

Whooping, Cap gave up trying to eat and just gave in to the laughter tickling him. "I'm sorry, John. I know it was at your expense, but, I gotta hand it to ya, that was brilliant. Marco, that was spot-on. Hell, _I_ believed you! What a great anniversary present. Thanks, Chet."

"Hey, don't look at me," Chet's eyes twinkled. Cap threw his napkin at him.

Not even the alarms that sounded over the speaker alerting several companies to a second-alarm structure fire could squelch the pure glee that filled the kitchen at Station 51.

Johnny swatted his Irish comrade. "I told you not to jinx it, Chet."

Chet made a face at him.

Johnny threw his partner a hurt look as they raced for the Squad, "I was really looking forward to cake."

"Don't worry, Junior. It'll still be here when we get back. You'll have to ask Cap for more, though."

Gage made a face and donned his turnout coat and helmet.

"10-4, LA. KMG 365," Cap announced on the radio. He handed Roy the address, patted the window of the Squad and made for the Engine, still laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

**As We Go...  
><strong>

**CH. 4**

_Grateful thanx to Kelmin for critical corrections/suggestions for this chapter, which, ultimately, improved this story dramatically. Whether it was _written_ to match those improvements remains to be seen...  
><em>

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><p>Portions of the sprawling campus of the dingy-looking industrial complex was a raging inferno by the time the second alarm units of the Los Angeles County Fire Department engines, tanks and trucks descended onto the scene.<p>

The gray façade, multi-story buildings, most connected to each other, were in various stages of involvement. Ladder 38 was extending to attack the roof on the east side as various trucks and engines swarmed around her.

Battalion Chief McConnike lost no time choreographing men and equipment around the disaster. "LA, Battalion 14. Request third alarm assignment at this location," he spoke into his HT, his voice broadcasting throughout.

"10-4, Battalion 14." New alarm tones sounded out of every CB radio speaker, adding to the cacophony of engine rumblings, air horns, sirens and yelling.

"Captain," McConnike greeted as Hank Stanley ran up to his boss to report in. "Place is clean, Hank. Have your men head in and cover the south exposure."

"10-4, Chief." The tall, dark-haired fire captain returned to his Engine and crew. "Roy! You and Johnny take a one and half in. Chet and Marco take another one and a half. Cover the south side."

The Squad and Engine crews scrambled along the top of the rig and hauled the lines off. Stoker got to work attaching the lines to the discharge panel while the rest donned their SCBA gear.

Johnny settled his oxygen tank to a comfortable position on his back. "Hey, Cap? We got anyone inside?"

"Chief says negative."

Johnny nodded and helped Roy shrug on his tank while Lopez and Chet geared up. With masks in place, Gage patted his partner's arm and the men of Station 51 grabbed their lines and headed in.

Stanley watched as his crew disappeared inside. Stoker climbed into the Engine cab and switched the gear from road to pump. The engine revved at a different pitch for a moment then stopped, dead.

Shaking his head, Mike keyed the engine again and shifted back into road gear. Jiggling the control first, he switched the Engine gear from road to pump. The engine revved at the higher pitch indicative of the pump engaging, until a painful _ratchet-y_ noise sounded from underneath and then the engine ground to a halt.

_Shit._

Cap squinted up at him, a hand on the edge of the open cab door. "Mike?"

Stoker flicked a grimace at his captain and tensed up in anticipation. He keyed the Engine again. Mike sighed with relief that at least the rig would start at all, then double-checked all the controls. Everything was in place and set correctly. He jiggled the gear shift. Neutral. OK. Another jiggle just to be sure. Shift…

The engine quieted and seemed, for just a moment, to have died, but then it purred back to life and settled into its normal thrum.

_Fuck._

"What's up?"

"We're dead in the water, Cap. Pump gear won't engage."

"Here, lemme try." Mike slipped out and Cap clambered up. He checked the controls as Stoker had done. Jiggled the gear. Shift to pump. No change in the engine - nothing. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, and threw the gear back to neutral.

Cap jumped back down and toggled the HT. "Engine 51, HT 51. Roy, Marco – you better come back. We can't charge the lines."

Stanley exchanged a look with his disgruntled engineer. "I thought you checked this thing after C-shift came back?"

"I did. Especially after what Dee said about the transmission. And she was working fine. I think it was that loud clank we heard on the way over. I guess whatever Dee thought he ran over this morning affected the pump gear."

"Yeah. Guess the shop's gonna get some business later today."

The crew of 51 returned with the lines.

"What's up, Cap?" Chet asked.

"Pump gear's shot. She won't engage."

"So now what?" Marco wondered.

"I was just about to find out." Cap thumbed the HT, "Battalion 14, Engine 51. Chief, Engine 51 is out of commission. We are unable to engage the pump. Request assignment."

"_Engine 51, Battalion 14. 10-4 on pump assignment. Looks like we've got two guys still inside, east side. Take your men in for S&R, Hank. Ladder 38's been moved to cover the roofs at the north end. I'll send 110 to watch your backs."_

"10-4, Battalion 14. Alright, you heard the man. Mike, gear up."

Cap and Mike geared up as the rest grabbed flashlights, lifelines, pry bars and other forcible entry hand tools.

"Battalion 14, Engine 51. Search and rescue under way."

"_10-4, 51."_

The 110 crew arrived and prepared the lifeline for 51.

With all six of the crew outfitted and ready, they steeled themselves before entering in through the open double-doors.

**~!~**

The stifling heat roasted the crew as they swept through the maze of connecting rooms and buildings, the line trailing behind them.

Johnny and Roy took lead, fanning out and calling, Marco and Chet at their backs. Mike and Cap were on their six searching through any spots the others may have missed.

The comparative quiet inside was made eerie by the clouds and tendrils of smoke floating and wafting around them. An undercurrent of rumble from the water up top reverberated in the walls.

They swam through the smoke and through a connecting corridor between two buildings, where the low thunder of water was louder. Johnny and Marco stopped, listening, then headed into a storage facility with a loading dock area strewn with canisters and piles of equipment. Banging and yelling could be heard coming from a partially open elevator door along the back wall, blocked by ceiling debris.

John was about to head toward the sound when a hand stopped him.

"Hold it, John, hold it!" Cap looked up.

The crew of 51 followed his gaze with their flashlights, seeing the glint of water trailing down.

"Yeah, looks like it should hold, Cap," Roy assessed.

"None too long, though," Hank peered up. "We'd better make this fast."

"_LA, Battalion 14, request fourth alarm at this location."_

"Shit…" Stanley muttered.

51 picked their way around the debris to get as close to the elevator doors as they could manage.

"Hello! Fire Department!" Johnny yelled through the thick smoke, shining his flashlight through the debris and peering into the 2-inch wide crack of the elevator doors.

"Help!" came muffled cries.

"How many people are in there?" Johnny yelled.

"Just two of us!"

"Are ya hurt?"

"Just Wayne, here, with a twisted ankle. But we can't get out. The door is blocked and jammed!"

Chet and Marco immediately started clearing out the smaller debris so they could get closer in to work on freeing the trapped men.

Captain Stanley grabbed his HT, "Engine 51, Battalion 14, we have two men on the east end trapped in an elevator shaft that's blocked in by debris. One victim has a twisted ankle. Request ambulance response."

"_10-4, 51."_

"Was there anyone else in this part of the building?" Roy yelled.

"No, we were the last to leave. Everyone shoulda gotten out. We figured the elevator was the fastest way down. _Please,_ get us out of here!"

_Is __there __something __incomprehensible __about__ '__Do __not __use __the __elevators__'__?_ Cap wondered as the crew exchanged knowing glances to each other.

"Alright, just hang tight! We'll get you out in a minute!" Gage assured them.

They spent some moments trying to work out how the jumbled mess of debris was situated and what was the most efficient method to get it away from the door.

Using their forcible entry tools they were able to clear out more of the smaller debris.

Then they tackled the heavier items. They huffed and heaved with their tools in an attempt to lift and shove the heavier steel beams away from the elevator doors but nothing moved.

Johnny and Marco moved away from the scene, trying to find a different way to approach the problem.

"Looks like we're gonna have to move all this stuff over here before we can get to those beams by the door," Johnny called. "I think all this stuff over here is trapping those beams, keepin' us from movin' 'em."

"Alright, let's do it," Cap ordered. His SCBA alarm went off. _Shit!_

Grabbing the pry bars, again, they struggled and were finally able to move the smaller debris off of the heavier steel beams.

Marco went off in search of anything else they could use for the main beams. He returned triumphantly dragging a long, metal pole.

They used Marco's pole as leverage and tried to move one beam, even a foot would do it, but not before the pole snapped in two amidst cries of 'Watch out!' and a steel projectile was sent spinning through the air.

"Cap, I think we're gonna need the portapower to get some of this debris outta here," Roy said, straightening up and panting with effort, his face red and flushed.

"Yeah, okay, pal. Look, my alarm's been goin' off—"

"Go ahead. We'll keep trying, in the meantime."

"Yeah. I'll bring back the portapower."

"Okay, Cap!"

"Hey, there're bigger poles in that corner over there," Marco pointed and he and Chet clambered over debris to get them.

Cap grabbed the lifeline and followed it out. He negotiated his way back and nearly flew out of the building to escape the hellish heat, wondering just how long the ceiling was going to hold.


	5. Chapter 5

**As We Go...**

**Chapter 5**

by Ariane Rivendell**  
><strong>

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><p>"Thanx fellas," Cap said to the 110 crew manning the lifeline.<p>

Squinting in the sudden harsh and blinding sunlight, Captain Stanley ran back to the Engine and watched the battle as he removed his empty tank, trying to gauge where they were with this monster and how much time his crew had to rescue the men and get out.

Ladder 38 was fully extended, raining water from the top, looking like it was at least controlling any spread of the blaze to the nearby support buildings, but not doing much to the inferno, itself. 127, 36, 18 and 29 were battling the north exposure and not making a dent, either. _Like __pissing __on __a __brush__fire_, Stanley observed with frustration. He couldn't much tell where the other companies were.

Firefighters scurried to grab lines or adjust positions to cover all the exposures. As Cap shrugged on the new air bottle he continued to eye the scene and allowed himself a sympathetic sigh of relief when he saw one poor fella from 36 nearly get himself crunched as he straddled a line that got yanked up awfully fast, grabbing it and saving himself, just in time. The hazards of a scene like this…

Hank adjusted the bottle on his back and tested the regulator. The pitch of several sirens in concert reached his ears, sounding over the thrum of engines and roar and hiss of spraying water. Stanley watched the flames intensify, making the place look like a scene out of a disaster movie with McConnike's orders over the myriad radios providing the soundtrack.

He had to get back to his men. Cap opened the compartment and grabbed the portopower, ready to head back inside.

A movement out of the corner of his eye. Hank turned and saw a foam truck move into position.

Cap's HT sputtered to life, startling him, _"__Engine__ 51! __Cap! __We__ got __ether!__"_

Stanley brought up his HT, "Mike! Get the _hell_ outta there! All units, Engine 51! Back off! We've got ether! East side! Repeat, all units, evacuate immediately!"

Captain Stanley heard his own voice cross the radios throughout the scene in a delayed echo as he shrugged out of the tank. Shouts mirrored his orders and he watched as equipment moved achingly slowly from the blaze and men scurried like ants away from the buildings. _C__'__mon,__ c__'__mon_…he willed them all to move faster as he watched for his crew to come scrambling out.

Static erupted momentarily from the HT. Then again. Cap listened, trying to form a coherent pattern to the erratic spurts of voice and static coming like Morse code from the handie-talkie.

"Mike?"

A burst of static.

Stanley frowned in frustration. "Mike? Say again! I can't read you, pal!"

Nothing. "Mike – ?"

The sudden, horrific blast from the building shoved Stanley hard against the Engine, the right side of his body slamming into the discharge panel, his helmet flying off and clattering as it hit the pavement. _Jesus__ Christ__…__!_ Stunned, he shook his head. But before he could recover, another thunderous concussion ripped through the air and Cap dropped like a stone for cover, an arm draped over his head.

Hank Stanley picked himself up and stared at the gaping maw of the dragon roaring tongues of flames, spewing smoke. Men were shouting and running toward the building with hoses, frantic to get the renewed blaze under control.

Running toward the structure. But no one had come from it.

No one.

No one at all.

Captain Stanley grabbed the HT, "Mike, are you alright!" Silence. "Mike!" Nothing, but the pounding of his heart and ringing in his ears. "_Mike!_ Come in!" Not even static answered. "John! Marco!" Silence. "_Answer_ me, dammit!"

"Truck 110, Battalion 14 – do you have 51?"

"Negative, 14."

Hank barked, "Truck 36, Engine 51 – anything!"

"Sorry, 51. Negative. No contact."

Hank looked around, "_Somebody_ has to have seen them! 92, do you have them?"

"Negative, 51."

"Engine 18, Ed!"

"I'm sorry, Hank, negative."

_God__…_

_No__… _

_Fuck no…_

"All units, all units, Battalion 14 – report in."

"14, 110. Negative, 14, negative. All clear."

"14, Truck 29. We got nothin', 14. No egress. No sign of 51."

"Battalion 14, this is 127. No contact, Chief."

"HT 51, Come in! Mike! Chet! Roy! Come in!" Dead silence. "Come in, goddamn it_,__ come __in!__" _

… _Come in, goddamn you… _

"All units, Battalion 14, all companies, report personnel."

"110, all personnel accounted for—"

"36, all personnel—"

"29, all accounted for, Chief—"

"Engine 18, all personnel—"

"14, 92, all personnel currently accounted for—"

"127, all personnel—"

_They __can__'__t__…_

_Somebody __has __to __have__…_

_ Somebody…_

The HT slipped from his fingers, traversed emptiness and hit the ground, spinning. The air rushed out of his lungs as disbelief flashed blinding white, paralyzing all thought.

'_Negative__… __All __clear__…__'_

'_No egress...'_

'_No sign…'_

'_No__ sign __of __51.__'_

His legs grasped it before his mind did and Stanley ran forward several steps then stopped, searching.

Staring. Frozen.

'_Looks like my boys are all grown up.'_

_ 'Well, Cap, make a wish.'_

_No…_

His crew. His men. All of 'em.

_All of 'em…_

McConnike ran up to Captain Stanley. "Captain, how many of your men were in there?"

Stanley didn't move.

"Captain! How many men?"

Stanley was shaking, his face ashen.

McConnike grabbed his former Engineer's shoulder, ran his hand up to Hank's cheek and turned his head, "Hank, how many of your men were in there?"

The Battalion Chief stared into dazed, haunted eyes.

"Dear God." McConnike turned to his crew, "Jimenez! Weigant!"

The Chief's barked orders to his men faded into a hollow, watery buzz. Moving on pure instinct, Stanley started toward the structure, toward the flames, the smoke, his men…

"Jimmy!" McConnike yelled from behind, pointing to the Captain of Station 51 racing toward the flaming jaws of the dragon.

Shouts went up. Like defensive tackles against a receiver, the surrounding firefighters intercepted Stanley, forcibly shoving him back from the engulfed building.

"No! Cap—!"

"You can't—!"

The shoulder of Hank's turnout coat was pulled back with such force Hank nearly spun around and gotten his arm ripped out of its socket.

"_Let_ me go, they're _in_ there—" He shrugged off his assailant and plowed ahead, trying to shove them all aside.

"_No_, dammit—! It's too hot—!"

"_Help_ me! They're in there!" Hank swiped at the arms and hands in his vision as he struggled against the tide.

"Hank, no—!"

"Don't go in there—!"

"They're _in_ there… they're all in there… _Help_ me!" Hank plowed against the unstoppable mass, clawing his way toward the building, watery eyes on his target as he was bulldozed back.

"Cap! No! We can't let you—"

"There's nothing left—!"

"_Mike!__"_ Hank yelled as adrenaline and desperation surged and he bore down against the sea of eyes that held only fear and sadness. The horde redoubled its effort as Cap grappled with the hands and arms keeping him from his crew...

"Don't—!"

"You can't do this—!"

Cap strained, his voice breaking. "My _men_…"

"You'll die—!"

The huddle of firefighters relentlessly propelled him back, away from the building, from his men, his crew... "They're _in_ there… Please…my god, they're all in there…"

"Bring him over here. Bring him over here. That's it. Set him down. Peter, get the paramedics…."

Breathing hard, he felt the hard surface of the Engine suddenly at his back as the human wall drove him against it, holding him until the harsh metal of the rig leached his strength, siphoning the struggle from him.

"All of 'em…"

His eyes searched frantically for his men until he caught a fireman's gesture to McConnike about a collapse and a regretful shake of his head.

He turned again toward the living flames engulfing all hope within the crushed and lifeless building. Hands on his head in disbelief, the stunned look on Stanley's face slowly mirrored the defeat and anguish of the faces before him and his arms fell listlessly to his sides.

'_Hey, Marco, you wanna trade?'_

The haunting echo of dead voices dragged him to the ground. The cocoon of firefighters gently relinquished their hold on the trembling captain of 51s as he collapsed in on himself, slipped from their grasp and sank slowly onto one knee, silently sobbing. 


	6. Chapter 6

**CH. 6**

[_**Day 0 – 24 hour shift**_]

A police siren raced past and filtered through into the dark dorm of the fire station.

But its harsh shriek penetrated not the expected serenity surrounding the slumbering firefighters, but the restlessness that simmered in the seeming nighttime quietude.

Station 51 Engineer Mike Stoker lay groggily on his bunk, eyes darting about as he tried to pinpoint what had awakened him before the siren had pierced the quiet. He listened. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He tried to remember what his dream had been. Something about trying to find his best friend from high school, except it'd really been his sister and she was trying on her prom dress for Roy's mother in law and his neighbor, Riley, was flying them to Sea World so they had to hurry to get there ahead of the other engine companies. _Huh…?_

Then he remembered the flash of conscious thought he'd had in his dream - the swish of the fabric of the prom dress sounded like bunkers.

That's _what woke me up_.

He turned over and, on impulse, glanced in the near-dark to his captain sleeping over in the next bed…

Frowning, Mike raised himself up and peered closer at the captain's bunk: it was empty. Cap's pillow was up against the brick divider and the sheets were scrunched at the bottom of the bed. Like he'd kicked them off in some Southern summer heat wave and meant for them to stay off. Cap's bunkers were missing from the side of the bed.

Stoker peered at the clock: 12:13.

_Four hours. It's only been four hours. To the minute. Seems more like four days ago..._

He fully expected to hear noises from the latrine. But Stoker heard nothing. Not long after, he fell asleep again, knowing that at least no calls for the Engine would disturb the night since the Chief had stood them down until the pump gear was fixed.

At 7:00 am, the wake-up tones rang out and a dorm of sleepy firefighters were roused from blissful sleep. Mike rubbed his eyes, then looked around in confusion when no acknowledgement to the alarm was made.

Stoker sat up and acknowledged the call. He replaced the mic and looked around. Cap was nowhere in sight and his bunk hadn't been disturbed since Stoker noticed it bereft of its owner not long after midnight.

_[Day 1: off_

_**Day 2: 24 hour shift**]_

Captain Stanley pulled his Country Squire station wagon into the parking lot behind Station 51, his sleep-deprived mind on auto pilot and fuming over the two stalled cars on the freeway that had backed up all the traffic in the county. Irritation further mounted as he noted that someone had already taken, what he territorially considered, 'his spot', causing him to do some fancy maneuvering to squeeze into the one empty stall on the end, which everyone avoided because it was such a pain to get into.

He parked next to Hookrader's black Buick Electra Coupe.

_Beautiful. The _one_ shift I am _not_ in the mood to deal with_…

With his grumpy meter already spiking in the red, Hank stumbled from his car and stopped himself at the last second from slamming the door.

He'd give an arm to be anyplace else right now.

He took a deep breath before forcing his legs to move, favoring his right knee.

C-shift Engineer Garrison Deitrich and lineman Charlie Wilson were trailing the A-shift crew out to the parking lot.

Dee's huge hands were waving about in the air, nearly knocking out Lopez with his duffel bag. "…So we're over there, tryin' to get this guy's kitchen fire under control and _this_ knuckle-head is arguing with the chef about _herbs_ for some damned fish pinochle thing."

"Fish piccata," Charlie corrected, letting out a huge sneeze and eyeing Marco as the both of them shook their heads.

"Whatever," Dee dismissed, slapping Charlie on the back.

"I'm sneezing, I'm not choking, you Neanderthal."

"Three months later, we get this invite from the guy to have dinner for saving his restaurant, right? Complete with a challenge to _this_ dweeb over who's got the best fish piñata recipe," he pointed at Charlie.

"Piccata. Piccata! How many times I gotta drill that into your thick skull, ya damn gorilla," Charlie complained, blowing his nose.

"So we _were_ gonna head over there, tonight, but C, here, decided to come down with a cold. So we're postponing it till next week and Cap'n Hook wanted me to extend the invite to you fellas. Chef might have awards comin' outta his wazoo, but Peanut, here's, my odds on fav—Whoa!" Dee stopped suddenly as Cap rounded the back of the station, both men nearly barreling into each other.

Stanley stopped short, startled, and stared wide-eyed at the group.

"Mornin'," Dee greeted. "Wasnuh callin' you a peanut, there, Cap. That be reserved for our resident fish potato expert, over here –."

Charlie growled, threw his clawed hands to the heavens and stalked off to his car.

Stanley simply looked at them, his surprise graying to shades of sadness. Nothing Garrison had said had registered to the A-shift captain. He was aware only of the surreal scene before him as he looked at his crew through the veil of the nightmares that had followed him. _Dead men walking_….

"Mornin', Cap." Roy's bright smile and lighthearted greeting soon descended into worry when Cap remained silent.

"Just have a say, if I'm in your way, Cap," Garrison quietly offered, trying to shrug off the sudden awkwardness.

Awareness came back to Hank and he finally sawthe men before him, 12 pairs of eyes all looking at him, expectantly. "Roll call in ten," he muttered. He ducked away, feeling embarrassed, then retreated to his office, leaving Dee and his own crew to stare after him.

"Return without a burn, boys," he heard Dietrich say as Cap moved past the Squad.

Dee's blessing rattled in his mind and he tried to shake the uneasiness that'd shrouded him since waking up in the dead of night from the nightmares.

Like he needed nightmares to accompany the reality...

'_Engine 51! Cap! We got ether!' _

He shuddered and steadied himself against the wall, his breathing ragged.

The nightmares had settled behind his eyes and burned inside of him, coloring the world with their unnamed fear, tolling throughout his soul the grim tone of death and foreboding…

Hookrader looked up as the weary stance of his replacement appeared in the office doorway. "Hank?" he greeted, in confusion.

"Gene," Stanley huffed back. _So help me, if he starts in_—

"What're you doing here?"

"I _work_ here, remember?"

"You didn't…? Well, I would've thought…" Concerned, Hookrader rose from the chair never taking his eyes off Stanley. "Hank, are you alright?"

"Pete's sake, what's with the third degree? Can't a guy just show up to work?"

"It's not like you to be late."

Hank bristled. "Alright, _fine_. I'll turn around and go home and you can take my shift, if you're so damned concerned about it–"

"OK, Hank." Hookrader put his hands up in appeasement, trying to give the younger man all the leeway in the world, despite the temptation to give him an earful. Under ordinary circumstances, he would. But then, Hank would never behave this way under ordinary circumstances. God, he just couldn't imagine… The C-shift captain threw Hank a disquieted look before he moved away from the desk. He wanted to say something to ease the man down but saw Stanley visibly back off.

"I'm here to relieve you," Hank formally intoned, pinching the bridge of his nose, too weary for a fight.

"I stand relieved. May God keep you and your men," Hookrader automatically replied, emphasizing the last part. It was a hand-off ritual 51 started several years back between all the captains and something the C-shift leader took seriously from his days in the Navy.

Gene studied the A-shift captain, who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Nothing much to debrief. Engine was out of service, as you know. And Dwyer's all up to speed on the Squad's log reports. They're all in there, nothing unusual. Incidentally, Hank…"

Stanley waited. "Incidentally what?"

Gene sighed. "The pump gear's fixed. Deitrich checked her over, last night. She's good as new."

_Peachy_. "Yeah, thanks."

Hookrader ignored the A-shift captain's curt and snippy answer. He inwardly sighed and moved past his counterpart, seeing only the bruise on the right side of the younger captain's face, but not the ghosted look in his tired eyes.

Stanley moved stiffly, wincing when he moved his right arm to look through the announcements he'd have to read at roll call.

"I'd've thought you'd take some time off."

Cap whipped his head at him, "What for?"

"Your injuries, for one."

Stanley turned back to the desk, "I'm fine."

Gene watched the A-shift captain with concern laced with new respect and a measure of affection. "Hank?" Hookrader called, his voice soft.

"Yeah?" Stanley's eyes were still roaming the desk.

"Listen, Hank…I, uh—"

"It's fine, Gene." Cap turned back toward the door when silence answered him. He saw Hookrader's worried look and Cap's expression softened. "Dammit. Gene, I'm sorry. I was out of line, earlier. Now go home before your wife and daughter forget what you look like, alright?"

Hookrader smiled wanly, eyes retaining his concern as he watched Hank turn back to the desk. His fingers drummed the doorjamb and he left.

Stanley looked back at the door. Seeing no one, he dropped into the chair like a lead bomb, sighed heavily and rubbed his brow.

_Son of a bitch.._.

With his men checked off for roll call, announced and dutifully chored, Cap returned to his office to tackle the paperwork and phone calls.

Mail. He'll have one of the boys go through that and disburse it all.

Three inter-office envelopes from HQ.

Envelope 1: Quick check. Ah, the updated vacation and sick leave forms. Remove the old ones – toss. File new ones into their proper slots.

Envelope 2: _Tim Freitas. Overtime request. B-shift_. Into Captain Hennessey's inbox.

Envelope 3: Finalized map for the last phase of that new subdivision being built in their district. They'll have to go over these, soon.

Phone messages. Hank rifled through the message stack: Another one for Hennessey – inbox. Messages for Stanley…Chief McConnike, Dr. Newell, Edney over at 92s, Passoja at 29s, Kelleher at 110s, Ivar at 38s, Drake at 36s, Kachowski at 18s, Titus, Younkins, Bittner, Franklin…

Hank slowly put the phone messages down as his eyes blurred over the stack in his hands. All the A-shift captains…

Cap's eyes darted about the desk, looking for escape. He saw the familiar tight, controlled, cursive handwriting of Hookrader on an envelope, addressed to him. He picked it up with trembling fingers and stared at it.

In a flash of impulse, he tore open the envelope:

_Hank –_

_Hennessey and I just wanted to let you know, as captains and as firefi—_

He crumpled the stationery up tight. Like watching a train collision, his eyes had quickly roamed through the words before the ink collapsed into the wreckage of the paper ball. He'd seen words he hadn't wanted to see. Holding memories he couldn't stop seeing…

'Somebody _has to have seen them!'_

'_No! Cap—!'_

_The numbers emblazoned on the Squad: 5. 1_.

Hank abruptly rose from the chair, snatched his mug and went in search of more coffee.

**~!~**

A yawn was followed by the rubbing of gritty eyes and a stretch in the office chair. Cap realized he'd been staring at the date on the log report for the past 3 minutes.

The klaxons sounded and he flinched, his eyes snapping shut, his heart racing. _No_…

It was a call for the Squad, only. His chest tightened and he reluctantly rose from the chair to answer at the call station. He handed his paramedics the address slip and patted the Squad, a weight settling in his chest as Roy moved her out.

Cap watched the Squad, slowly following in her wake as she took off, sirens and lights on full. He stood at the edge of the bay, a silhouette waiting for them to return, never noticing Mike watching him from the kitchen doorway.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the late update. Project deadlines and a mini-vacation kept me from writing & updating. Not that this update is exactly in the spirit of the season...but Happy Holidays to all!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

_[Day 3: off_

_**Day ****4****-5: ****48**** hour**** shift**]_

The A-shift crew was standing around the dayroom with a map spread out on the table, scrutinizing the plans for that new housing development being built in their district.

Roy stole a sip of his coffee and noticed Stoker looking at Cap talking while the rest of the guys were peering at the map.

No. Stoker wasn't looking at Cap, Roy realized. He was _watching_ him.

"Now the _real_ problem here is gonna be these rows of town houses they've got comin' up. There's a ditch directly behind these properties with the golf course right next door and this fence, here. Which means the north-facing exposures are gonna be awfully difficult to access," Cap warned.

Everyone nodded in full agreement as they peered at the blueprints for the subdivision.

"Hey, wait a minute, Cap. Looks like there's a section here that's a bit of a no man's land, as far as hydrant access, is concerned. How'd they get away with that, anyhow?"

"Good eyes, Kelly," Stanley lauded. "That's exactly right."

"Where?" Marco leaned in closer, with Gage doing the same next to him.

"Right there, see?" Chet pointed out.

"It's a damned good question, too," Johnny added, his finger tracing a triangulating path of the 'blind spot'.

"The pond at the golf course is right on the other side. We can draft that, if need be," Stoker nodded toward the plans, sipping his coffee. "We'll have to draft a plan for the pond," he added with a chuckle at the word-play.

Roy grinned at Mike's joke. "I saw what you did there. But how're we gonna get through the fence?" he asked, stealing a sip of coffee.

"What fence?" Mike countered, smiling with a glint in his eye.

"Would you two quit it and get serious? This could be dangerous. Or are you that _flippant_ about your own safety, all of a sudden?"

The two senior men of Station 51's A-shift stopped in mid-sip, cups lowering slowly back to the table.

"Sorry, Cap," Roy whispered, eyes dropping at the look from Cap that could stop a stampeding herd of bison in its tracks.

Cap huffed in irritation, "As I was saying…"

Stoker and DeSoto stole concerned glances at each other and their shiftmates before turning their attention back to the map.

**~!~**

Johnny backed up the Squad into the apparatus bay and climbed out.

"You gonna ask Cap?" his partner asked as he slipped out of the Squad and grabbed the grocery bag.

"Yeah. I'll see if he's in the office."

"Alright, I'll grab the rest of the guys."

"OK." Johnny headed straight for the office. Cap was sitting on the desk, his back to the open doorway, head ducked down.

The younger paramedic knocked before walking in, but Cap didn't move.

"Hey, Cap? You want burgers or dogs?"

Captain Stanley turned and waved the phone receiver he was holding.

"Sorry!" Gage backed out of the office and went in search of Roy.

A half hour later, the burgers and hot dogs were grilled, the fixings and condiments were ready, the table was set and chow was on. The men attacked the burgers and dogs with gusto and sat down to lunch.

"Hey, where's Cap?" Marco asked, backing off from his first bite.

"Crap…" Johnny swore, ready to run to the office, but Cap's lanky form appeared in the doorway. "Cap, I was just comin' to get ya," Gage said, all smiles.

Stanley waved him off with a tired flip of his hand. He headed to the counter, grabbed a paper plate, and stopped dead. He turned back toward the table where his crew were digging in.

"You didn't leave me any burgers?"

Johnny looked up at him, mayonnaise ringing the corner of his lips. "Uh, yeah, there should be some, Cap."

"No, there's only dogs left."

Johnny rose, moved to the counter and stared in disbelief at the empty plate of burgers. "Sorry, Cap, I thought I made enough…"

"You could've asked me, at least."

Gage sputtered. "I…sorry, Cap, I was gonna ask but you were on the phone…"

Cap tossed his plate onto the counter. "Nevermind," he muttered and walked out.

Puzzled, Johnny went after him, the stunned looks from the rest of the crew following them both. "Cap? I can make more—"

"Nevermind, Gage!" he shouted, ducking into the office.

Johnny caught up to him. "There's still some beef left, Cap, I can make more. It's not a problem."

Hank faced him. His eyes were dark and with a sad expression he put a hand on Johnny's shoulder, "Don't worry about it." Then he slipped behind the desk and rifled through some reports.

Johnny glanced at his shoulder then at Cap, brows knitted in confusion. "Cap, are you OK?"

"I'm fine, John."

"Look, I'm gonna make you a burger, OK?"

"It's really not a big deal."

"Just…hang on." Johnny raced back to the kitchen, ignoring Stanley's shout, and started rummaging in the refrigerator for the extra beef.

"What's gotten into Cap?"

"I don't know, Marco," John answered, placing the extra beef on a plate on the counter and adding his special blend of spices. "Roy, can you fire up the grill for me?"

"Yeah," DeSoto jumped up and headed outside.

"Johnny, you need help?" Chet asked.

The dark-haired paramedic was kneading the spices into the beef and pounding them into several hamburger patties. "Ahhhh, no Chet…actually, can you guys save some of the fixings and stuff for 'im?"

"I'll set some aside," Stoker offered.

Roy stepped in, "Charcoal's lit on the grill, Johnny."

"Thanks, guys," and Johnny was outside in a flash.

Several minutes later, Station 51s youngest was back with freshly grilled burgers and began to fix them up.

"Cap got a phone call," Marco warned the junior paramedic.

"Thanks, Marco." Duly plated, Johnny walked over and knocked lightly on the open office door, three hamburgers with all the fixings squeezed onto a plate, complete with toothpicks in each and a garnish of olive. "Hey, Cap?"

Captain Stanley was hunched over the desk, a hand covering his face as he leaned on his elbow. His voice sounded shaky. "Yeah, I know, Ed, but I can't see how that's gonna make any kind of a difference."

"Cap?" Johnny called softly and placed the plate near the edge of the desk.

Hank eyed the plate, looked over at Gage, threw him a small smile of thanks and turned back to the desk.

Johnny was taken aback for a moment as he'd momentarily locked eyes with Captain Stanley and he stood still for several moments in shock.

Stanley continued his conversation, "I'm well aware of that, Ed, but again, I'm just not convinced…No, he hasn't ordered it, but I can't see any real reason for him to do that, considering."

Johnny finally got his legs to move but heard Cap snapping his fingers and he stopped as he made to leave. Cap gestured for him to close the door, which Gage did on his way out, and then returned to the kitchen. He went outside to clean up the grill area and found Roy already closing up the open bags of unused buns.

"Was Cap happy you brought him lunch?"

DeSoto's partner was rolling up the bag of charcoal and securing it. "Johnny? Was Cap feeling better?"

"I'm sorry, what? Oh, uh…yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"He was on the phone."

"Oh. But he knew you brought him lunch…?"

"Uh…yeah, I suppose," Gage answered absently, wiping his hands on his pants before moving to take out the grille.

"Johnny, what is it?"

"Nothin' Roy, it's just…ow!" he yanked his fingers back from the edge of the caked-on grille.

"It's still hot, be careful. It's just what?"

"It's just…well, he was on the phone when I took the plate in for 'im."

"Yeah. You said that." But something in Johnny's expression told Roy that his partner wasn't just serious, but shaken.

"An' he looked at me."

Roy settled against the wall. "Go on."

"Roy, I…I think he was crying."

**~!~**

'_Yeah, I know, Ed, but I can't see how that's gonna make any kind of a difference.' _

'_You're not the first captain that's had to deal with this kind of thing, you know. People usually resist, at first, but then they're glad they did it, in the end.'_

'_I'm well aware of that, Ed, but again, I'm just not convinced.'_

'_Has he ordered you to make an appointment?'_

'_No, he hasn't ordered it, but I can't see any real reason for him to do that, considering.'_

'_Considering what? That you lucked out? That may have been the case the other day, Hank, but what about today? What about tomorrow? Dammit, Hank, you could've died had you gone in after 'em! And I'll bet you don't even realize that that's precisely what you were really trying to do. And you know damn well it could happen again and if it does, you might not be so lucky.'_

Cap walked out of the latrine and back into the bay, lost in his own thoughts.

Chet, Mike and Marco were double-checking and cleaning the tools in the port-side Engine compartments.

"Alvarez couldn't believe we'd pulled it off," Cap heard Chet say as he passed by them on his way to the office. "He couldn't believe that not only had we cleaned everything right under Cap's nose, but the icing on the cake was _Johnny_ and the cake. Said he was gonna call Roy later on just to check that I wasn't foolin' _him_."

As he heard the three men laugh at Alvarez's reaction, it grated on Cap's nerves something fierce. Unable to squelch the fire that was seething through him, Cap stopped, turned on his heel and tracked his steps back to his lineman, his hard expression had settled on Kelly, who was polishing a nozzle.

"Alvarez wants to know how you managed to put the peas into that corner piece," Chet was saying to Mike. He turned and looked up at Captain Stanley, "Oh hey, Cap. We're almost done—"

"Don't 'hey Cap' me."

Kelly stopped polishing at Stanley's serious tone. "Sorry, Cap."

"How dare you," Hank growled, fury roiling beneath the surface.

Chet eyed the nozzle and then exchanged a look with his companions, wondering if this was for real or part of some new prank, "I don't follow you, Cap—"

"How dare you _blabber_ that to every fireman on every shift in this station. That anniversary was a personal thing, Chet! It wasn't meant for public consumption, you got me!" Hank's fury pushed tears into his eyes.

Chet's expression softened. "Yeah, Cap. Perfectly."

'_Don't jinx it, Chet.'_

'_Cap! No—!'_

'_I'm sorry, son. There's no sign of 'em…'_

Breathing hard, Stanley turned on his heel and hightailed it back to his office, closed the door, and knuckled the desk as he stood over it. A hand finally moved over his face as used all of his willpower to stifle the sobs bubbling up from within.

Without complete success.

**~!~**

Station 51 Engineer Mike Stoker awakened to an unfamiliar sound, eyes darting as he tried to pinpoint the source.

He turned over then stared in the near-dark to his captain sleeping over in the next bunk.

Hank Stanley's erratic breathing came in waves as Stoker listened and he wondered if it'd awakened anyone else.

Suddenly, Cap moved, a hand rubbing his face. He turned over, paused, then pushed back the sheets, rose from his bunk, hiked on his bunkers and made for the latrine.

Stoker looked at the clock: 5:07.

But Cap never returned to the sleeping quarters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Day <strong>__4-__**5**__**: 48 hour shift**__]_

'_Dammit, Hank, you could've __died__ had you gone in after 'em! And I'll bet you don't even realize that that's __precisely__ what you were really trying to do…'_

The wake-up tones jolted Stanley and he wrenched his tired eyes from the hole they'd been boring in the office desk. Trembling from the sudden interruption and, he deduced, lack of sleep, food, and caffeine, he forced himself up and out to the call station to answer. As he replaced the mic he could hear his men moving about in the dorm. Hank retreated back to the office and slumped back into the chair. He wanted nothing more then to curl up in bed, away from the world, away from another shift. But he knew they'd just come back. They'd find him. The nightmares. They always did. Even at home, they found him. Wresting the peace he tried so hard to hold on to in the unending anxiety of his world.

The voices. The sounds. The images swirled in his mind and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes in a futile gesture to make them stop.

'_Captain, how many of your men were in there?' _

'_They're all in there…'_

'_I'm sorry, son…'_

_They won't stop._

_They won't stop…_

_Somebody, please…make them stop_…

"Cap?"

His hand involuntarily slapped the desk as Hank Stanley jumped at the voice. He whipped his head toward the source to find his sleepy engineer, still in his bunkers, looking at him from the doorway. "Jesus, Mike," Cap breathed out.

"Sorry, Cap. Didn't mean to startle you. Just wanted to let you know, coffee's on."

"Yeah, OK." Hank watched Stoker leave then sagged in the chair and tried to calm his hammering heartbeat, never knowing that his engineer had been equally startled to find his captain already dressed for duty.

**~!~**

"Alright, onto the duties," Cap glanced at his crew standing at some semblance of attention near the Engine with Kelly staring at the floor. "Since you got everything clean, yesterday, I want you to check the equipment and replace anything that needs replacing and fill everything that needs filling. Lines, belts, blades, air bottles, everything. B-shift already did a hose inspection the other day, but when you finish everything else, check the hoses, again. Same chores as yesterday, except Roy, switch latrine duty with Stoker. Dismissed."

The Engine and Squad crews fell out of line and Hank made for the office.

**[ **_**a half hour later**_** ]**

"_No_ way," Chet had his hands up. "I already had my fun in the sun with Cap. It's someone else's turn." The mustachioed lineman stepped back from his colleagues and folded his arms.

"Well, by that token, Mike and I oughta be exempt after he snapped at us, too," Roy deduced.

"No, Chet's right," Marco agreed. "You didn't see the look on his face yesterday," he said to the paramedics.

"Sorry, Roy," Mike said. "I think Chet wins hands down on that one. Cap was about as teed-off as I'd ever seen him."

"Yeah, over a conversation he wasn't even a part of!" Chet griped.

"Alright," Johnny acquiesced. "Us four, then," he grimaced to Roy who shrugged. He turned to Chet as a thought struck him, "Well why don't _you_ hold the straws, then."

"Yeah, alright. _That_ I'll do." Chet held out his hand and Stoker passed the straws over to him. Kelly turned his back on the guys, glancing over his shoulder to check that no one was peeking. He shuffled the straws around and placed them in his hands just so. "Alright. You all know how this works," Chet held out the straws.

The remaining four firefighters each grabbed a straw. Various expressions of joy and relief appeared on their faces.

All except one.

"Sorry Marco," Johnny patted him on the shoulder.

"Great," Lopez sighed, looking dejectedly at his brothers. Then a bright smile crossed his face, "Heeeyyy, I'll do your chores if anyone wants to trade?"

"Sorry, Marco," Mike said. "Besides, I figure, you'd be the last one he'd yell at."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well he hasn't yelled at you, yet, right?" the junior paramedic grinned.

Marco glared at him. "Yet. '_Yet'_ being the key word, John. Ya know, I was kind of hoping to stay out of that club." Marco sighed heavily, grabbed the pile on the table and slogged out of the kitchen. "Besides," he turned back, "I _am_ the last one! I _expect_ you guys to have my back."

"Don't count it. If we hear you screaming like a little girl, we're running the other way."

"You'd better come rescue me, Chet. I still have the twins' phone numbers," Lopez pointed out and trudged out of the kitchen.

Chet swore.

"What?" Roy asked, as afraid as he was to do so.

"If he'd said Yvonne's number, I still woulda said no. But he brought up the _twins_. He knows that's his trump card."

Gage groaned and headed out toward the apparatus bay with Mike and Roy on his heels.

Lopez finally reached the captain's office, wondering how the apparatus bay got so short, all of sudden. He stopped at the door and looked around, hoping by some miracle the tones would go off. He saw Johnny, Mike and Roy come out of the kitchen. He started toward them, hoping he could convince someone else to do this. Then he sighed. _This is stupid. I'm a fireman, for crying out loud_._ I face life and death situations every day. I can handle getting yelled at, even if it is for no reason._ Despite his own reassurances, Marco clamped down on the anticipated anger he felt rising. He inwardly smiled, straightened then knocked on the door and headed straight in, "Hey, Cap, mail's here."

"Yeah, thanks, Marco. Just set it down right there, will ya?"

"Sure, Cap." Lopez set the stack down on the end of the desk, eyeing his captain a bit warily.

"How goes the equipment inspection?"

_Well, he seems to be in a good mood…so far._ "We've checked all the saws and blades and switched out a couple. Chet and Roy are finished with the axes and we're about to check the air bottles and regulators. We'll get to the belts and lines, after that."

"Good. Oh, hey Marco – any phone calls for me, take a message, alright? I've got a readiness report I need to work on, I don't want to be interrupted. Unless it's the Chief, obviously."

"No problem, Cap. I'll let the rest of the guys know."

"Oh, and another thing. Make another cup 'o joe, will ya?"

"Sure thing, Cap." _There, nothing to it. You've just gotta approach him with the right attitude. _

**~!~**

It took awhile, but Stanley finished going through the shift calendar he'd been marking and finally grabbed the mail pile Marco had brought in. He rifled through it and picked out the exciting mail for him to deal with, including a large envelope from HQ. _Oh joy_… The rest of it could be gone through and sorted by one of the boys, later.

He ripped open the HQ envelope. But, after a quick glance he threw the document aside as if he'd been bitten by it. Breathing hard, he stared at it, then leaned on the desk and rubbed a hand over his forehead.

A knock at the door. "Cap?"

Stanley snapped his head up to see Roy in the doorway.

"Captain Kachowski from 18s is here to see you. And, uh, coffee's on."

Hank leaned back slowly in the chair and his eyes narrowed at his senior rescue man. "He's here?"

"Uh, yeah. He's in the kitchen."

"Thanks Roy," Hank muttered. Eyes darting back and forth, Hank slowly rose. He slipped past the sandy blond firefighter, mumbling to himself, though Roy didn't catch what he'd said.

The paramedic watched in concern as his captain headed for the dayroom. Curious, Roy stepped into the office and peered at the document he'd seen Cap throw onto the desk. It was the final report on the Hammond Chemical Plant explosion and fire last year.

Captain Stanley slowed his steps as he entered the dayroom, noting the tall, husky figure in civvies standing at the table surrounded by his coffee-laden men. Curly, salt–and-pepper hair topped a rounded weathered face and kind, sharp eyes that reflected every thought and emotion. If Hank noticed the shock in those eyes as he walked in, he ignored it. "Keach? What the devil are you _doin'_ here?"

Ed raised his cup in greetings, "Came to see, _you_, Bubs."

"Fellas, you remember Captain Ed Kachowski over at 18s," Stanley gestured to the captain.

"Sure, Cap," Chet answered. "We were just fillin' each other in about what's new on the grapevine."

"What're you doing here?"

"Well, if you'd returned my calls, I wouldn't have had to come down here."

"But…aren't you supposed to be on shift?"

"Not today, Hank. Teddy Gant's covering for me." Kachowski's stern eyes held onto Stanley's. "Doris is, uh, over at Rampart."

"Nothing serious, I hope, Cap," Roy said, slipping into the kitchen behind Stanley.

"Just a…long procedure," Ed's eyes followed Stanley, who put his hands on his hips and returned his look with a sadness in his eyes. "Didn't feel like hanging around in the waiting room so I thought I'd swing by, see if my ole pal Bubbles was around."

Roy had caught the serious look between the two captains. But Stanley's morbid expression morphed into irritation when his men erupted into chuckles and sniggering. "Thanks a lot, Ed."

"Bubbles?_ Bubbles? _Is that really his nickname?" Johnny thumbed back to Hank with a face-splitting grin.

"You boys didn't know that?" Kachowski's eyes twinkled as he sipped his coffee.

"No…!" Johnny looked around at his brothers, "Did you guys know about this?"The shaking of heads that erupted around the table was in stark contrast to the toothy grins that went with it.

"Crying out loud, you trying to undermine my authority?"

The pepper-haired captain laughed. "We were stationed together at 23s, right after he finished his probie year. That's where we met. Don't you tell your boys anything?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Not if I can help it."

"Why 'Bubbles'?" Stoker asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh boy, here we go," Cap muttered, ambling over toward the couch to escape.

"Did 23s have a foam truck, by any chance?" Roy asked, encouraging the ribbing.

"It's a reflection of his personality, why else?" Marco teased.

Hank snapped a look at his lineman, but quickly turned his attention back to hiding. He put his arms up over his head and clenched his eyes shut, waiting for Ed to continue with his humiliation.

Ed smirked as he watched his former shiftmate, "23s, at that time, was a veteran group. One of the most experienced in the department, as far as combined years. Cap was already on the verge of retirement. We'd lost one of our guys to a car accident. Oscar Tindale. He'd been on the job about 4 years. God, it was a _damn_ shame. He was a good guy, incredible instincts. He could read a fire better than anyone I'd ever known. You'd-a liked him, Hank. Anyway, I'd already been on the job 6 years, myself. But I became the newbie, until _he_ started with us," Kachowski gestured to Cap with his coffee mug.

"And, naturally, being the newest one, they treated me like a probie," Cap said, still hiding near the couch.

"Yeah? What'd they make you do, Cap?" Chet crossed his arms, enjoying the squeeze being put on Captain Stanley.

"After the muddiest, dirtiest runs, they made _me_ clean the Engine all by myself."

"He always over-measured the soap and we'd end up with a bay full of suds." Ed laughed alongside the crew.

"Engine got clean, though," Hank pointed out, rubbing his hands together slowly and looking sheepish.

"Yeah. So did the entire rest of the bay, and the kitchen and the dorm—"

"Oh, hush. You know, I may have a few extra suds that I could put to good use on _you_, ole pal," Hank threatened as he rejoined the group.

"You _did_, if I recall," Ed replied, eyes dancing. "Winslow, our engineer, became a master at getting the rig as dirty as possible, too."

"Oh, I _forgot_ about that! Every time it rained, he always drove the long way just to get on Ardmore. Right through those gigantic puddles." Stanley threw a look at Kachowski as the older captain laughed.

"Ardmore?" Marco asked. "My ex-girlfriend lives around there. That road doesn't flood."

"Yeah, not anymore," Hank said. "Guess when they fixed it?"

"After you became an engineer, right?" Mike offered.

"You got it. Boy, that just burned me up for the longest time."

"Ain't that always the case," Johnny sympathized with a wry grin.

Kachowski chuckled as he sipped his coffee, eyes never leaving his friend. "I learned, after awhile, that it really did kinda fit him."

"_Bubbles?"_ Hank asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Ed answered. "Strong exterior that holds itself together, protecting the vulnerable interior. Flexible. Slippery, when he wants to be," Ed smiled.

Roy watched the two captains with a paramedic's scrutiny. It was a relief to see Captain Stanley seemingly acting more like himself than he had been over the last week. Maybe whatever it was that had been bothering him had blown over.

"'Bubbles…'" Johnny was snickering, trying, not really, to hide his laugh.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," Chet muttered, rubbing his hands together.

"Yeah, and the next guy that calls me that gets latrine duty as long as I'm _captain_ of this station. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. Bubbles. You know, that does kinda suit you, Cap."

"Gaaaage…" Cap growled.

"Sorry, Cap," Johnny smirked.

"No you're not."

"So, uh, Hank, got anyplace two old fire dogs can chew it up and spit out old times?"

"As a matter of fact I do and it's _private_. No more spilling secrets to my crew. Besides, I'm sure they're _itching_ to get back to their equipment inspection. Isn't that right, men?"

"Aw, we wouldn't mind hearing some of those old stories, Cap," Chet grumbled.

"Well, gee, Kelly, if you finish your chores today, I might just tell you a story or two at bedtime when I tuck you in."

Gage, Lopez and Stoker laughed at that.

"It would sure beat gettin' yelled at," Chet muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Hank snapped.

Chet smiled. "Nothin', Cap," his smile disappearing as soon as Hank's eyes were elsewhere.

"Hm. Well, Keach and I have captain business to discuss, so I suggest you all skedaddle back to duty."

"I guess we should let Bubbles and Keach get to it, then," Gage giggled.

"And you can double check those hoses, Gage."

"Sure thing, Cap. Anything for Bubbles…"

"On the _double_, John."

"Bubbles and Keach. Sounds like a Keystone cops routine," Stoker joked.

"Latrine! Toothbrush! 5…4…3….."

The kitchen erupted into a hurricane whirl of coffee mugs, blue uniforms and scraping chairs.

"Equipment inspection, aye aye, Cap –"

"Getting to it right now, Cap –"

'On our way, Cap –"

And the hurricane fled the dayroom.

"You happy, now?" Cap groused as he steered the chuckling Ed to the office with a hand on his shoulder.

Hank closed the door and gestured for Ed to sit. 18s captain, the amusement falling from him, leaned against the side of the desk, and folded his arms, instead, still carrying his coffee.

"So Doris is at Rampart?"

Kachowski took a swig of his coffee, slowly set his mug down and stared at the floor. "Yeah," he whispered.

"When'd she start?"

"Today."

"Today—! Dammit, Ed, why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Ah hell, Hank, after what happened last week, I couldn't bring myself to burden you with that."

"What do you mean 'after what happened last week'? If something's going on with Doris, you tell me!"

Kachowski snapped his head up at Hank and then his eyes narrowed, "You really gonna keep playing this game?"

Stanley balked at him. "No one's playing anything, Ed! What the hell's the matter with you?"

Ed's shoulders sagged and he rubbed his forehead, "Dammit, Hank, don't play me." He sighed heavily and leaned his hands on his knees. "You're _doin'_ it again, dammit," he growled.

Stanley simply looked at 18s captain feeling at a complete loss. "You wanna fill me in on the memo?"

"I've seen you at your worst, Hank. And you've seen me at mine. You know that. Better than anybody." Kachowski straightened and looked pointedly at his best friend, "But, the worse it gets, the deeper you hide."

"Are you enjoying your own conversation?"

"It happened during Watts. And in '63, when those kids died, you remember that?"

The anger, resentment and guilt he'd kept locked away through the years slowly boiled to the surface and whipped him like it'd happened yesterday.

"Fuck's sake, Ed, why'd you have to bring that up?" Hank muttered in a shaky voice. He rubbed a hand over his face, hearing, with god-awful clarity, those little voices shrieking for help…until they went silent.

"I bawled like a baby the whole rest of that week, you remember?"

It was taking every ounce of Cap's energy to lock it all away again and it was long moments before he could speak, "Yeah."

"But you. Took that whole week for it to _hit_ you. And when it did, it hit you. _Hard_. And in the meantime, you beat up on everyone else until you ran out of people. And then you turned on the one person you had left. I remember when Jeffries - that prick - came over and told me 'Bubbles popped.' Took the whole rest of the shift and then some to put you back together."

"Jeffries," Cap huffed, staring at the floor. "Never did like him much. So what're you telling me, Ed? That you didn't tell me about Doris because 4 little kids died in a fire 10-odd years ago?"

Kachowski stepped closer to him and peered at his best friend. His eyes glinted with tears as memory eclipsed the man standing before him. "Because you watched your men die in a fire five days ago, Hank. I saw what that did to you," he whispered...

_**~/~**_

_Ed Kachowski walked up to the safe zone, fingers rimming his helmet. He noted a number of firefighters on the ground with O2 masks while several others were being administered to for lacerations or burns or getting their eyes washed out. _

"_Watch out, coming through," came a voice from behind. Ed turned and hopped out of the way at the sight of two firemen supporting a limping colleague._

_Ed turned back to the safe zone and spotted the tall figure on the ground, lying__ on __his __side, __arm __draped __over __him.__ He was lying at the edge of the zone, apart from the other victims._

_Hank's __turnout __coat __lay __over __him __and __his __fingers __and __eyelids __twitched. 110s paramedic, Bruce Widener, stepped over, answering the question hovering in Kachowski's expression._

"_He's stable, but he's still in pretty bad shape,__" __Bruce __reported._

_The __captain __from __18s __nodded __absently __at __the __paramedic __as __he __regarded __51s __captain. "Is he unconscious?"_

"_No. __He__...pretty much tired himself out. He's sleeping, but he's been in and out. He's, uh…he's pretty out of it. __I__'__ll __be __here __if __you __need __me,__" __Bruce __said, moving to take care of another fireman being brought over._

"_Thanks,__" __Kachowski said, stepped over and knelt down. He set his helmet down and __looked over his best friend. Hank's eyelids quivered, but didn't quite open. He was mumbling something but Ed couldn't make out what it was. _

_Ed caressed his friend's face. "Hank?"_

_Captain __Stanley __stirred __after __a __few __moments, __eyelids __fluttering __open, __head __tilting __up __to __see __who __it __was.__ "__Keach,__" __he __smiled, his __voice __breathless._

"_Yeah, __it__'__s __me, __Hank.__" __Ed __answered, __looking __into __glazed, hazel __eyes._

"_You__'__re __here.__"_

"_Yeah. __Yeah, __I__'__m __here, __Bubs.__"_

_Hank raised an aimless arm and patted Ed weakly on the shoulder.__"__Grab __some __cake, __Ed. __Stoker __made __it, __he__'__ll __get __you __a __plate.__" _

"_What?__" _

_Kachowski__'__s __radio __flicked __to __life,__ "__Battalion __14, __Ladder __38, __north __exposure __is __contained __on__ Building__C__—__.__"_

"_God! __Dammit!__" __In __a __flash, __Ed __turned __his __radio __down __and __looked __worriedly __at__ Stanley, __who __had __stopped __moving __when __the __radio __sounded, __eyes __working __as __he__'__d __listened, __hand __hanging __on __Ed__'__s __arm. __Ed__'__s __stomach __plummeted __to __the __ground __as __he __watched __the __wheels __turning __in __his __friend__'__s __head._

No. Don't put it together. Goddammit, Hank, don't do it…

_51s __captain __was __still __for __long, __sickening __moments __as __his __expression __mirrored __the __confusion __his __mind __was __working __through._

_In __a __flash,__Hank__'__s __eyes __cleared __and __he __sucked __in __a __sudden, __deep __breath, __his __face __collapsing __into __terrible __grief.__ "__They__'__re __gone__…" __he __whispered._

"_Son__of__a__bitch,__" __Ed __muttered __and __grabbed __Stanley__'__s __shirt, __tensely __watching __him.__ "__Hank?__"_

_Stanley looked wide-eyed at him, __"Oh my god…" Hank buried his twisted face in his hands and curled into a fetal position. His body went rigid until he began to convulse in silent sobs, the grief paralyzing his ability to breathe._

"_Widener!__" __Ed __called, Hank moving under his hands.__ The __paramedic __was __there __in __an __instant. __"__Can __you__ give __him __something? __Knock __him __out?__"_

"_I'll have to call Rampart," Widener disappeared and returned some moments later with a biophone. _

_Stanley__ sucked in a hollow breath and his body collapsed again, whimpers of agony and inconsolable want sounding muffled through his hands._

"_Hank…?" Kachowski whispered, helplessly watching his friend in agony._

_Bruce reappeared with a pad and pen and knelt down._ "_I need to get his vitals." _

_The paramedic gently grabbed Hank's wrist to get his pulse, but Hank violently wrenched his hand away. _

"_Wait." Ed moved behind Stanley and grabbed his arms to hold them for the paramedic, but Hank thrashed against being restrained._

"_It's okay, Cap. I can get a carotid," Bruce quietly said._

_Kachowski slowly released him and Hank visibly sank back against the ground and buried his face in his hands again, his breathing labored and audible. _

_Ed wearily rubbed his face then settled in a hunched kneeling position and kept a concerned eye on Hank. _

_As Bruce attempted to get a second set of vitals, however, Hank writhed around to keep Widener from examining him. _

_Ed clamped down on his best friend, trying to hold him still. "Dammit, Hank, let him check you. He's only trying to help." _

_But Captain Stanley continued to counter Bruce's attempts to get a hand him, not allowing even his pulse to be taken. The defeated paramedic finally rocked back on his heel and shrugged helplessly at Kachowski. "I think it'd be best to just let him be. I don't want to stress him out any further, Cap. I think he just wants to be left alone."_

_Face still buried in his hands, Hank curled up as if to ward off the world. Kachowski nodded at Bruce and patted Hank gently on the shoulder then looked up to see the surrounding firefighters watching in wretched misery and sympathy. Then he turned and saw McConnike looking at them with heartbreak all over his face. The Battalion Chief locked eyes with 18s captain before he took a deep breath, locked the steel mask of professionalism onto his features, and walked away to listen to the reports coming in over the HT..._

**~/~**

"Oh, come off it, Ed! Everything's fine, alright? God, I wish _everyone_ would quit _hassling_ me about it," Hank put his hands on his hips in disgust.

"Who's hassling you?"

"You, Hookrader…"

"Everyone, huh?"

"That's enough for me, thanks."

"Well maybe we're hassling you because there's a reason."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"What happened with those kids. I never wanted to go through that again with you. Then Watts happened. And now this. My best friend is falling apart and he can't– "

"What the hell ever gave you that idea?"

Ed regarded Stanley with unmasked concern, his voice low, "Cause you look like hell."

"Wait a minute… You didn't come here to tell me about Doris, you came to check up on me!"

"I'll be honest, Hank. I did both."

"For fuck's sake, Ed – "

"C'mon, Hank. This thing is eating at you. I saw those looks you shot Lopez and Kelly."

"They deserved it." But the words were hollow, even to him and he regretted it before he'd even said it.

Kachowski laid a hand on Hank's shoulder and gently shook him. "No. No, they didn't. And I know you know that," Ed said gently. He peered closely at Hank for a long time, searching his eyes, his face.

"Something I can do for you?" Hank finally snapped when the silence stretched far longer than he was comfortable with.

Ed searched Hank's face. "God, Hank… You are _so_ angry. You're so angry, you don't know what to do with yourself."

"You done playing department shrink?"

"Are you done denying that you need one?"

Hank planted his feet. "So help me, Ed –"

"I know your men made it out alive and they're here. But you're still back there, Hank."

Captain Stanley turned away from him, "Quit looking for something that isn't there, Ed. Everything's fine."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Because you're worried about your wife."

"And you're side-stepping me."

"Ed, I'm fine. Alright? Look, Doris is gonna beat it with the chemo, this time. OK? And Judy and I are here for you both, you know that. She's gonne be okay."

18s captain studied Hank, "Are _you?_"

"Am I speaking Russian, all of a sudden?"

"I meant what I said yesterday. It could happen again."

Stanley laughed, if only to alleviate the tension that permeated the room. "Ed! It's not gonna happen again, OK? Everything's fine. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"The cancercame back, Hank. _It came back_. That's what I'm tryin' to tell _you_."

The two captains were staring at each other when the two-toned alarm echoed throughout the station. Stanley flinched and hoped he'd covered it by reaching for the door.

"_Station 51. Respond with Engine 86 at their incident. Vehicle over an embankment. Deadman's Dip along Hilltop Drive. Deadman's Dip on Hilltop Drive. Cross street, Treeline. Time out: 8:44."_

18s captain followed Hank out to the call station, the station number and call sign sounding strange to his ears.

"Station 51, 10-4. KMG 365."

Stanley handed a slip to Johnny as his rescue team boarded the Squad. "I'm sorry, Ed. Give Doris my best, okay? We'll talk to her, soon."

"Go."

Stoker adjusted his helmet and watched as Cap donned his turnout coat and climbed in. He waited for the Squad to pull out ahead then followed, sounding the air horn to alert any oncoming traffic to stay clear.

"We may need to back up the Engine, so give yourself some room," he said to Mike. Then he faced front, the conversation with Ed ringing in his ears.

As he watched the vehicles head out, Kachowski hung his head in frustration and he returned to the office. He sat in Hank's chair, a hand over his mouth in thought, fingers tapping the desk. He looked around absently, wondering what else he could say, what else he could do to convince him. A phone message stuffed in Hank's inbox peeked out from under some reports. The date was visible – the day after the fire. Ed peered at it, then noticed that it was one of many. In fact, a whole lot many… Frowning, he reached under the reports and noticed that Hank's phone message stack was almost an inch and a half thick.

**~!~**

The Engine and Squad crews of Station 51 made their way into a hilly rural countryside that was part of Station 86's purview. They soon spotted their sister crew down a steep and lonely road, with only a few houses behind them up the road. The road was a wide U-shape, dipping gradually down then climbing back up to the next hill.

It was a veritable disco scene at the road's nadir point as Engine 86 was accompanied by three patrol cars and an ambulance, all parked further up from the Engine, lights flashing. Several lines were attached to 86's starboard side, past the demolished portion of the guardrail and nearly 20 yards down the side of a shallow, grassy embankment lined with muddy trails that led to an overturned vehicle.

At the top of the road, a small crowd had gathered along the guardrail to watch, kept back by two of the police officers. Another officer was standing near the ambulance talking to several people.

"Deadman's Dip," Captain Stanley murmured as they neared the scene.

"_Squad 51, Engine 86. Be advised we have two victims."_

"_10-4, 86."_

Mike pulled up behind Engine 86 as Johnny completed the 51 sandwich and pulled in between the ambulance and 51s sister engine. 51s Engine crew poured off Big Red as Gage and DeSoto grabbed their gear from the Squad.

86s Engineer, Joe Harmon, stepped over to Captain Stanley and the two looked down from the road at the scene while the rest of 51 gathered around. The vehicle, a full-size ambulance, was on its side, the back end facing the road and looking somewhat like a sleeping elephant.

"Whatcha got, Joe?"

"Looks like some kids tried to steal an ambulance that had been parked up near one of the houses up top. At first, the ambulance crew thought that maybe the parking brake had failed. When we got here, we found two teenagers inside."

"How badly are they hurt?" Johnny asked.

"Not very, believe it or not."

"Are those the parents?" Johnny pointed to the two couples near the ambulance, straining to see the wreck.

"That's them," Harmon confirmed.

"OK, well, let's go talk to them and then head down there," Johnny suggested.

"We got lines rigged up for you, already. Captain Steiger's waiting for you. But be careful, it's unstable ground out there. Real loose rocks and slippery. The ambulance has already shifted a couple of times because its weight is causing it to sink a little."

"Alright, thanks."

The paramedics went to talk to the parents while Chet and Marco prepared a Stokes and loaded it with the gear. After a few minutes, Johnny and Roy made their way down to the wreck as Chet and Marco sent down the Stokes and gear, after them.

As Gage and DeSoto reached the scene, they could see some of the lines off of 86 were tied to the back of the ambulance. "John, Roy," 86s blonde, wavy-haired captain greeted the two as they reached the vehicle.

"Cap'n Steiger," Johnny greeted back. "Whatcha got?"

"Two teens. Male. Both in the front cab. They're conscious and they don't seem hurt too badly, but I'll let you be the judge. We've got the jaws down here and the portopower. You need anything else?"

"Not sure, yet, Cap," Roy answered. "We brought down a Stokes and our gear. We'll need another Stokes, but we'll call up for it, in case we need anything else. We'll let you know once we've checked them out."

"OK."

"Let's get to it, then," Johnny cautiously kneeled down next to the overturned ambulance to look in through the smashed window. The ambulance started rocking, causing the loose soil to move and he slipped a little. "Hey, hey, keep it down in there! Don't move! We're comin' to get ya but ya gotta quit movin'! You're gonna shift this thing and we won't be able to get to you."

An exasperated moan and pounding could be heard from inside and the wreck continued to rock. "Quit it!"

"_You_ quit it! _You_ got us into this, moron."

Steiger carefully knelt down, trying not to slip to get closer to the broken window. He craned his neck to see the boys but couldn't get down far enough to do so. "Boys! This is Captain Steiger. Knock it off and listen to the paramedics. If I so much as hear a complaint from them about you, we pack it up and leave you here. Got it?"

"Yeah, OK, whatever. Just get us out of here," came a petulant voice.

Steiger's anger rose a few notches. "You speak like that to your parents?"

"Yeah. So?"

Steiger straightened up. "Roy, Johnny, pack it up."

"No no no…please! Don't leave us here! Please? OK, okay, we're sorry! We'll do whatever you say."

Gage and DeSoto exchanged an amused look.

The captain leaned forward, his voice clearly indicating that he wasn't to be trifled with, "You boys understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Petulant suddenly sounded like he was five.

"That's better." Captain Steiger rose up steadily, but grabbed Roy's shoulder in a vise grip at the last minute as his footing slipped out from underneath him. Roy put a hand out to steady the blond captain, keeping hold of him until he was stable. Steiger finally tested his weight until he was satisfied he wasn't going to careen face-down the minute he moved. "Gentlemen…" he gestured to the wreck.

"Thanks, Cap!" Johnny grinned and turned back to the victims.

"My pleasure. Alright, I'm gonna go see your captain," Steiger told Roy.

"Alright," Roy acknowledged and moved to join his partner.

"Frank," Steiger called to his lineman, who was holding the Stokes in place while slipping and sliding himself in the loose topsoil. He thumbed back toward the paramedics, "Whatever those two need. I'll be topside."

"OK, Cap."

In moments, Captain Steiger hauled himself back up to the road. Captain Stanley extended a hand out and helped pull the blond captain up to flatter ground. "Hank," Steiger said in thanks.

"Jack. Well this is a lovely way to start a morning."

Steiger nodded, yanking off his gloves and stuffing them in his back pocket. "And there we were, minding our own business, having a _really_ nice cup of coffee."

Hank laughed then grimaced and slapped his leg.

"What?"

"Marco made coffee. I forgot, damn it."

It was Steiger's turn to chuckle.

The two captains watched the scene below them in silence while their crews scurried about. Captain Steiger, never taking his eyes off the wreck, waited until he knew they were alone. "I heard what happened last week, Hank. Your boys. They look none the worse for wear." Jack faced his counterpart, studying him. "Wish I could say the same about you," he whispered.

With no warning to shield himself, Captain Stanley felt the force of his raw grief squeeze the air from his lungs as the memories rushed at him.

"_Engine 51, HT 51. Cap? We need a backboard and the other Stokes."_

Stanley's eyes involuntarily clenched shut at the sudden interruption. "10-4, HT 51." It took him some moments to wrench his mind back to the present and collect himself. "Lopez! Kelly! Backboard and the other Stokes!"

Steiger was scrutinizing him, noting Stanley's every reaction. Before he could say anything, Stanley threw him a quick glance before moving to help Marco and Chet with the equipment. Jack adjusted his helmet and sighed, wondering if that was embarrassment or annoyance that he'd seen in those eyes.

Minutes later, Marco and Chet manned the lines that sent the backboard and Stokes down to their shiftmates while Hank and Steiger watched.

"_She's shifting!"_ came the call over Captain Steiger's HT. Both captains saw the whole vehicle drop a little and lurch. Engine 86 groaned and the lines grew more taut.

"HT 51, Engine 51. John? Roy? You alright?"

"_Engine 51, this is DeSoto. We're fine Cap, but we're gonna need more manpower, down here."_

"Chet, Marco," Stanley called. The two linemen immediately grabbed lines and headed down to help Johnny and Roy with the victims.

"_Engine 86, HT 86! Cap, we got fuel!"_

The blond captain turned to his engineer. "Joe, get the reel line."

Harmon scurried to grab the line and with Steiger's help, started down toward the wreck.

"_Fire!"_

Red flames could be seen coming from the underside of the ambulance. "LA, Engine 86, get me a full brush fire response at this location," Steiger ordered.

"_10-4, 86."_

"HT 51, Engine 51. John? Roy? How's it coming?"

"_Engine 51, this is Gage. We've just about gotten the victims out. Uh, Cap, be advised, this ambulance may be carrying oxygen."_

In an instant, sickening dread flooded through Captain Stanley, the memories rolling around each other in the tumbling whitewash of his grief. "No…" Stanley absently stepped toward them, eyes wide in panic.

"10-4, Johnny." In a flash, Steiger moved to intercept Stanley and put a firm hand on his chest, "Hank."

Pained, desperate eyes looked back at Steiger's confident expression. "They're gonna be fine. C'mere, siddown." Jack firmly grabbed Hank's arm and steered him to the starboard running board of his Engine, sat him down and gently removed Hank's helmet. "Right down here. That's it. Take a deep breath. Breathe. C'mon, breathe deep for me."

Hank closed his eyes and took several deep, shuddering breaths, feeling Steiger's hand still on his chest, another on his shoulder. The abject fear that had lunged at him so ferociously slowly began to subside as Hank wrested back control.

Mike saw Steiger holding onto his captain and quietly came over, aiming a concerned glance at the blond man. Steiger locked eyes with 51s engineer and nodded toward the lines.

Stoker's eyes lingered worriedly on his captain before he moved off and took up position near the damaged guardrail to coordinate the rescue.

Jack patted Hank's shoulder, "There you go. You OK?"

Hank blinked his eyes open and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Sorry, Jack." Hank took off his gloves and ran a hand through his hair.

"Nothing to apologize for. You gonna be alright?"

Stanley nodded, ran a hand over his face and leaned forward, letting out a breath. "Oh, man."

"_Engine 51, this is Gage. OK, they're ready to go. We can haul 'em up!"_

"10-4, John," Steiger answered then turned to his colleague. "C'mon, let's get them out of there." Jack hauled up 51s captain by the arm as Stanley got to his feet.

The two captains, Stoker, the patrolman, and the two ambulance attendants hauled up the victims in the Stokes, followed by Gage and DeSoto.

"You guys alright?" Stanley asked DeSoto as he helped him back up onto the road. Steiger noticed Stanley's hand kept hovering protectively on the sandy blond paramedic.

"We're fine, Cap," Roy answered.

"How are they doing?"

"They both seem fairly, OK, considering. This one was complaining of some back pain, so we put him on the backboard and stabilized his head, just as a precaution. But I think they'll both be alright."

"_Engine 86, HT 86. Fire is under control, Cap."_

"10-4, HT 86. LA, Engine 86, cancel brush fire response."

"_10-4, 86."_

While the paramedics tended to the two delinquent teenagers, the rest of the engine crews began corralling their equipment and cleaning up the scene. Captain Steiger kept an eye on the proceedings for several minutes. Roy accompanied the victims to the hospital while Johnny followed in the Squad. The parents also left and the crowd dispersed and soon it was just the two engine crews and patrol officers.

Satisfied all was under control, Steiger turned to Stanley. "Hank, we'll take care of the overhaul. Why don't you and your boys go on home."

"It's no problem, Jack."

"If it hadn't been for those two hotheads, we'd've been doing this on our own, anyhow. We'll be okay. No sense tying up two engines." Steiger leaned closer, "Besides, I need to give these guys something to do to earn their pay for the week. It's been a slow coupla shifts."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Stanley looked around for his second-in-command. "Mike! Call us in, will you?" At Stoker's acknowledging wave, Hank turned back to his blond counterpart, looking abashed. "Listen, Jack…again, uh, I'm sorry. Don't really know what happened back there," he gave an embarrassed laugh.

"I think you do."

Stanley's astonishment met Steiger's no-nonsense expression. "You've been through a terrible ordeal, Hank. No one this side of reason is gonna blame you for reacting the way you did. Your men may have made it out alive, but…I have a feeling there was at least one casualty at that fire. And like any injury...it requires treatment. Can I, uh, ask if…you've had a chance to talk to anybody about it?"

Captain Stanley forced a laugh. "Well…no. I mean, why would I? They're fine, you've seen 'em yourself."

"_They're_ fine, yes." Steiger sighed, lost in thought. "I can't…tell you what to do. Think about it, will you?"

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But it's fine. Really."

Klaxons sounded over the radios and Stanley started. After a moment, he dubiously looked over to see Jack watching him closely.

"Cap! We got a car fire," Stoker called, readjusting his turnout coat.

"OK. Marco! Chet! Mount up!" Stanley yelled, heading for the Engine.

"Already here, Cap," Marco answered from his jump seat.

"Hank," Steiger called, stopping 51s captain in his tracks. The two captains simply looked at each other, unspoken words falling silently into the space between them. Hank finally turned away, climbed aboard his Engine and 51 took off, sirens blaring. Captain Steiger turned back to the cleanup. "Dammit," he muttered.

**~!~**

**[ **_**one hour later**_** ]**

A rapping at the office door. "Cap?"

Captain Stanley kept his nose buried in the report he was reading, "Yeah?"

"Chow is on."

"Thanks. Be right there."

Mike Stoker stood in the doorway. After having mulled and debated over it all morning, he decided to confront his captain, figuring the best approach was as a friend rather than a subordinate. But, after Cap bit Chet's head off yesterday, Mike was a little dubious about bringing this up. Then again, this wasn't a game. He swallowed his anxiety and stepped into the office, "Cap?"

"Yeah, Mike?"

"Can I ask what happened back there?"

"Back where?"

"At that ambulance rescue."

Cap finally looked up at him, brows furrowed.

"When Cap'n Steiger had you on the running board."

Stanley's heart stopped._ Shit. _ "Oh, nothing. I just got dizzy for a second, there. That's all."

Stoker's eyes narrowed at his captain, who'd returned to his report.

_Dizzy, huh? Bullshit, Cap. If you'd gotten dizzy why didn't he just say so? And why didn't he have Gage or DeSoto take a look at you? __Dammit__, Cap, you're lying_…_ And you've __never__ lied to us_. _ He dismissed me to protect you. But from what? Fuck, Cap, what the hell is going on with you…?_

"Anyway, chow's on." Mike leveled a look at Cap, subtly shook his head, spun on his heel and left, never more angry at his captain than he was right then.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Although William Bryant played the Captain at Station 86 in two different episodes ("Isolation" & "Hypochondri-Cap") – both on A-shift and both with the same crew member named Joe [Harmon, who arguably, is promoted to Captain with Roy and Johnny] - his character name is different in both. In "Isolation", his turnout coat says 'Flynn', while in "Hypochondri-Cap", Johnny calls him 'Captain Steiger'. In the interests of forming some sense of continuity for this story, I decided to merge the characters under the name of Steiger.


	9. Chapter 9: Out of Control

**As We Go...  
><strong>

**Chapter 9**

by Ariane Rivendell

**A/N:** Most grateful thanks to Enfleurage, Kelmin and TDT for their comments, suggestions, and encouragement and most indebted thanks to Enfleurage for her enormous assistance with some emergency (!) psychological therapy for Cap (and boy, when he decides to open up, he doesn't fool around), which was ultimately beneficial in helping to rescue Yours Truly from the raging waters of Writer's Ineptness Syndrome, in which I was madly floundering.

Incidentally, with the sudden (or maybe not so sudden) concern over plagiarism issues in this fandom any similarities of scenes in this chapter to those in other stories are purely coincidental (in particular, the glove box scenario, which others may find similar to a Chapter 4 scene in The Delirious Threeman's most excellent "Over the Edge" story. Funnily enough, we each wrote our scenes independently and probably at about the same time. TDT has already reviewed that scene in this chapter and has given it a stamp of A-OK).

* * *

><p><strong>[Day 6 – off]<strong>

__*_Midnight Train to Georgia_ by Gladys Knight & the Pips__

_LA proved too much for the man_

_He couldn't make it so he's leaving_

_The life he's come to know_

_He said he's goin' back to find_

_What's left of his world_

_The world he left behind not so long ago_

_He's leaving on that midnight train to Georgia_

_Said he's goin' back to find _

_To a simpler place in time_

_When he takes that ride…*_

The street light gave the droplets on the window an orange tinge and cast shadowy specks on the faded vinyl of the dashboard. Tiny rivulets from the roof scuttled like lightning bolts down the glass, slicing their way through the rounded liquid beads that danced on the windshield.

He switched off the radio in rising annoyance, but the song had already bored itself insidiously into his thoughts.

He looked out at the dark slate dusky gloom above and sighed with chagrin as he waited for the light rain to pass. The fallen droplets on the glass fashioned the world into prisms of cracked, distorted unreality like the blanket of fear that had permanently encased him. He set his elbow on the armrest, rubbed his weary eyes and fought, again, to erase the contemptible song that had burrowed into his mind and to ignore that damnable pull toward the glove compartment.

A fresh tumult of rain sheeted down and he glanced once more with renewed impatience toward that little recessed alcove fronting the passenger seat, the keyhole reflecting the flame-colored streetlight. Jumping on the split second he allowed his defenses to wane, Hank reached over and opened the glove compartment and retrieved the crumpled little box within.

He contemplated the crushed white mass still wrapped within the shiny, crinkly plastic and the green plastic stripe that stiffly hung from it; felt the caved-in corners. He turned it over and around as if examining some archeological ceramic piece. His body held its own memories and tingled with them, recalling the taste, his lips automatically puckering, his fingers aching, again, to hold and feel the long, smooth roll.

He'd managed to avoid them all last week. Ever since…that night. Fought the urge. _And won_. And after hearing about Doris, it seemed an even better reason to keep them in the past.

Hank snorted in disgust and opened the box, intent to follow-through on his sudden urge, his tongue moving in anticipation, but his Captain's common sense sagged his shoulders as he looked at it again. The reasons he'd stopped several days ago hadn't changed. His lips twitched in a grimace of heart wrenching reluctance. He replaced the one he'd taken out, closed the crumpled container and started to return it to the glove compartment.

He paused and eyed the gathering clouds that had taken a reprieve from their watery task. _To hell with it_… Hank grabbed the lighter from the glove compartment, shoved packet and lighter in his denim jacket breast pocket and got out of the car.

_Manny's Familia Ristorante_ always made him think of 1940's San Francisco. Not that he remembered much about 1940's San Francisco.

Perhaps it was the restaurant's art deco décor coupled with its ornate furnishings that made him think of his grandparents' home.

_My grandparents_… He hadn't thought about them for such a long time.

He looked up at the enormous wooden door, which seemed welcoming, despite its imposing size and its equally enormous gold-colored handle. A large, stained-glass window was inset into the wood while two others flanked both sides of the door. He studied the inset window, noting the faded roses along the intricate green vines winding along an orange tree, with cardinals perched nearby and an idyllic Italian countryside in the background. Hardly realistically accurate, but it made for a pretty picture. Traces of memory trickled into his consciousness, of sitting by his grandparents' fireplace, helping his grandmother with her stained glass hobby. He would feel the smooth glass pieces and study the colors, looking through each one to see how it affected the color of the fire…

A car horn snapped him back to the present.

He flinched at the sudden jarring that yanked him from his peaceful ruminations and he lanced a venomous glare in the direction of the car. He peered through the window beyond the CLOSED sign and wondered if anyone was inside, for the place appeared a little dark.

He grabbed the large gold bar and sucked in a breath, preparing to heave it open. But he sighed and deflated. He bowed his head for a moment, then shifted his weight and turned, eyes coasting down the street. The streetlights glowed to an even brighter orange against the darkening blue of the diminishing dusk. The drizzle that had started up again streaked diagonally across the lights and their surrounding halos in the wind, little shooting stars en masse taking their entrusted wishes to die with them into the surrounding dark.

The store signs and telephone poles that created the city's canopy beneath the emergent layer of buildings receded to a gray haze as the drizzle thickened with distance. A lone silhouette hurried down the street, losing her hold on her bags, coat, and umbrella in the strengthening wind. She slipped and fell. Hank started, instinct kicking in to run and help, but another figure ran across the street, helped her to her feet and held her umbrella for her while she gathered herself together.

Hank turned up a quick eye to survey the sky and then sighed as he faced the door, again. He closed his eyes and shivered in the chill of the breeze and wrapped his thin jacket closer about him. He quickly entertained the idea of simply going home. But Judy was sure to ask and he knew she was counting on him being here, tonight, to live vicariously through him. She'd need it. He was out of exit strategies; there was no going back. _Son of a bitch_… _Let's just get this over with_. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he swung open the massive door. He cautiously stepped in and his eyes narrowed as he peered into the dimness.

Dark heavy wood topped with lattice-work decorated the L-shaped head-high foyer that encompassed the receiving podium. Two red velour bench seats and several ornate armchairs gave the entryway both a casual and sophisticated ambience, mirroring the rest of the establishment's decor. A large, art deco, orange and white, glass chandelier hung over the receiving podium, its crystal prisms swaying and tinkling in the breeze whenever the door opened.

He moved past the podium to stand at the cusp of the foyer's entrance into the sprawling main dining area to allow his eyes to adjust. In the low light, he could make out the bar that stood at the near end of the restaurant; its far side flanked by a saloon door that transitioned to an arched window-way that provided a novel view into the kitchen.

But for all its volume, the spacious restaurant cowered against the shadows that seemed to grow in the smoky haze hanging suspended amongst flashlight beams in the kitchen and the concentrated candlelight in the middle of the dining room.

Hank gaped wide-eyed at the dark, empty space as the low light gave the cloudy interior the soft look of a portrait.

Of images frozen in time…

…swimming in his vision…

_They swam through the smoke and through a connecting corridor between two buildings._

…banging, loud voices and commotion were coming from the kitchen…

_Banging and yelling could be heard coming from a partially open elevator door along the back wall, blocked by ceiling debris._

…the smell of burning…

'_Hello! Fire Department!' Johnny yelled through the thick smoke, shining his flashlight through the debris and peering into the 2-inch wide crack of the elevator doors._

Stanley clutched the nearby woodwork with an iron grip, breathing hard, trying to keep the rising panic at bay_._

'_Cap, I think we're gonna need the portapower to get some of this debris outta here,' Roy said, straightening up and panting with effort, his face red and flushed._

'_Yeah, okay, pal. Look, my alarm's been goin' off—'_

'_Go ahead. We'll keep trying...'_

Feeling the suffocating anxiety start to overtake him, Hank turned to flee, to escape, to retreat from the terror that was entangling him… until the harsh scraping noises in the kitchen came to his consciousness and began to pull the memories off of him. A stifled yelp came from the kitchen as the shuffling noises continued. Hank spun back toward the main room, eyebrows furrowing.

"Johnny, you okay?" came Roy's shout. After some moments, Roy's voice sounded again, "Hey, Cap! It's all clear. It's out."

Still frowning, Hank looked toward the kitchen for his senior paramedic. _ Out? What's out? _A sharp intake of breath. _ Fire…!_ Stanley nearly launched himself into the main dining area, his Captain's instincts clicking into place.

"Alright, DeSoto," came Hookrader's voice.

The A-shift Captain stopped_. Oh. _That_ Cap_…

Stanley realized that Hookrader sounded calm, not commanding. Casual. Conversational, even, not barking like an Incident Commander on scene…

"Gage need help getting down?" Hookrader asked.

"Uh, no, Cap. We got it."

_Gage? Help getting down from where?_

A sound past the kitchen window, down a hallway - a door closing. A shadow was moving. C-shift's thickset engineer, Garrison "Dee" Dietrich, waddled in from the back of the restaurant, shaking water off of him. He leaned into the window-way, "Cap, it's sealed up."

"Thanks, Dee. You get the vent fan?"

"Right-o, Capitán-o."

"You fellas sure that's off?...Okay, Dwyer!" Hookrader shouted.

In moments, light flooded the restaurant.

Hank grimaced at the sudden brightness. He turned and reached a hand out to the podium, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling some of the apprehension drain off his shoulders.

"Holy shit!" came Dietrich's booming voice. "What, are you guys taking the whole damn kitchen apart?"

"The water got behind here and flooded this whole corner." Chet's voice.

Hank finally turned back to the woodwork, filaments of dread still lingering across his vision. He sighed deeply, and, like a bashful kid walking into a classroom on the first day of school, rounded the foyer and made his way in.

Thick beams and round posts visually divided the cavernous space into separate sections while the dark flooring throughout was anchored by red-velvet draped walls. Plastic vines wrapped around the wooden beams, softening the heavy masculine stamp. Delicate ornate, Victorian-style lamps decorated the heavy wood tables, softened further by high-backed colorful velour chairs. Green booths lined the walls and at the far end stood a full-sized trolley gaily painted red that he imagined must be a hit with the kids.

Hank frowned at the sight of Roy and Marco holding a ladder in the kitchen leading into an A/C duct in the ceiling.

Marco turned and saw Stanley, shoulders hunched, hands together, watching them from across the room. "Hey, he's here!"

A dozen firefighters and restaurant staff faces all popped into view from the window-way, while Garrison's huge bulk was framed by the arch.

Stanley threw them a weak smile and held up a hand but didn't budge.

A saloon door swung closed behind Hookrader, who sauntered over to his counterpart with a bottle. The uneasiness hadn't ebbed away and Hank wracked his brain one last time to come up with some kind of excuse to escape the hawk-eyed scrutiny of 51s C-shift captain. After his confrontations with Kachowski and Steiger, he was in no mood to be Hookrader's psychological guinea pig. But there was no place to escape to and he ran out of time to think. The man may be controlling and annoying but he wasn't stupid. _Women have it so easy. Why don't men ever wash their hair…? _

Hookrader held out the bottle for Hank, as if it were a peace offering.

Hank eyed the nearly-dry bottle.

The white-haired captain curled his hand, as if contemplating the label, then held it out again. "Didn't want Chef to raid his own stash, so we brought our own. Cooler's in the kitchen."

Hank slowly reached out and took the offered drink. His fingers touched tepid glass and Hank snapped a narrowed look at the white-haired captain.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain, later. Frankly, I, uh, didn't think you were gonna show."

"Truth be told, I didn't either." Hank held up the lukewarm bottle in a gesture of thanks.

"What made you change your mind?"

Hank's eyes fell on the beer label, "I _didn't_. Not really. Judy made me come."

Hookrader looked askance at his younger counterpart and scanned the dining room. A smile tugged on his lips, amused at the ole 'blame the wife' joke. "Uh-huh. So where is she?"

"With Doris. Ed Kachowski's wife."

Gene's face fell, "Oh, damn. The chemo."

"Yeah. She decided the least she could do was help around the house while Doris recovers. She, uh, figured I'd had enough with two days on shift that I oughta do something fun, for a change. Still wondering how this is gonna fit into that description," he looked around suspiciously.

"Aw, come on, Hank, we can't lose! Two of the finest chefs are gonna make us one helluva meal." Gene had his arms wide then leaned conspiratorially toward the younger captain. "Imagine, Hank, fish _piccata_, made with _sole_, a little dash of—"

"Gene."

Hookrader held out an arm, "What? C'mon, it'll be great! We'll—"

"Gene!"

"What?"

"I _hate_ fish."

"Then why'd you come?" Hookrader squinted at him, a hint of amusement on his features.

Hank rolled his eyes. "Oh, boy…"

The older captain clamped a hand onto Stanley's shoulder and began to steer him toward the kitchen. "C'mon, I'll introduce you to Fulvio, the chef."

Hank stopped in his tracks, "Fulvio? Then who's Manny?"

Hookrader turned back to him, "How should I know? C'mon. You want a bottle opener for that thing?"

"Yeah. And a cold glass."

Garrison Dietrich was standing outside the window-way and stepped over to meet the two captains as they neared, beaming a bright white smile at A-shift's captain. "You missed all the fun, you son of a gun! You shoulda seen this place a half hour ago," Garrison gave Stanley a friendly pat on the arm.

"Easy on the muscle, there, Dee," Hank complained in a pained voice, rubbing what was sure to become a bruise on a shoulder that still ached after a week.

The rest of the full complement of Station 51's A- and C-shifts were now squeezed into the kitchen, where the smoke was thickest. Some piece of equipment, which obviously lived in the corner, was now standing in the middle of the room. Chet and C-shift's lineman, Gavin Platko, were holding flashlights for some of the kitchen staff who were wiping up something in the dark corner while Marco and Roy were still holding the ladder.

Stoker was laying out several cutting boards on the food prep counter when he saw Cap enter the kitchen. Cap's distraction with the chaos allowed Mike to lay a scrutinizing eye on his captain. A hunch in his shoulders, a slight cower to his stance, like he was cold. Maybe that didn't mean anything for it _was_ cold outside. But a weighted shuffle had replaced the confident spring in his step. His face appeared drawn and seemed to have taken on a permanent expression of worry. His eyes flicked about, almost nervously, when someone wasn't talking to him. And there was something in his manner, a hesitancy. A boot straight out of the academy on his first day at the station. _He does look a little better than he has all week. A little more rested, I guess. Maybe he finally got some sleep at home. But he still looks like shit. _

Even Hookrader, of all people, seemed to be hovering around him. First Kachowski, then Steiger, yesterday. _What the hell is going on?_

"Oh, hey, you made it," Chet greeted, inadvertently shining his flashlight into Cap's eyes.

Cap winced, "Kelly, you mind?"

"Oh, sorry, Cap."

C-shift's lineman and chef extraordinaire Charlie Wilson was busy helping the remaining kitchen staff prep for the evening's showdown and enlisting the occasional help of Stoker, C-shift's senior paramedic Charlie Dwyer and Dwyer's partner, Todd Hansen.

But something about the fact that someone on his crew was still visibly missing unnerved Hank. Stanley mentally shrugged off the simmering apprehension and looked around at the commotion, "You guys have another fire in here?"

"Not quite. We'll tell you all about it at dinner. C'mon, Fulvio's over there," Hookrader indicated the bald, stocky Italian chef, Fulvio Rosa, who, true to his Italian nature, gesticulated wildly and a lot as he spoke with his sous chef.

"Howdy, Cap!" came Johnny's echo-y voice from above.

"Roy, Marco," Stanley stepped over to his two men.

"Hey, Cap," Roy smiled.

"Glad you made it, Cap," Marco greeted.

Stanley peered up into the duct hole directly above the ladder as relief swarmed through him, "Howdy, yourself, pal. Enjoying yourself, Gage?"

"You know it, Cap."

"Well, come on down from there."

Stanley rejoined his counterpart and Hookrader introduced the captain to the chef. They, along with Charlie Wilson, chatted while the rest of the firefighters and restaurant staff cleaned everything up. Hank found himself keeping a protective eye on his crew, feeling as if, at any minute, something horrific was about to happen.

* * *

><p>"Listen, we saved a seat for you, Cap, so don't worry. Man, you shoulda been here, earlier. It was an insane asylum!" Chet gestured wildly as A- and C-shifts trickled out of the kitchen back to the tables with fresh new beers.<p>

They'd pushed together six of the smaller tables in the middle of the room to make a large dining area for all thirteen of them. The lighting in the main room had been subdued to create a dining atmosphere while the candles on the tables provided the ambience.

Chet indicted a chair that'd been set aside for Stanley. Cap noted it was in the middle of the combined table and being the center of attention was the last thing on his list.

"Thanks, Kelly. Think I'll sit over there, instead," he said, pointing to a spot on the end.

"So, Cap, you missed all the fun!" Charlie Dwyer declared as the group began to seat themselves, "We had _three_ _serious_ emergencies all at the _same time_. But like the _true_ firefighters, the true _heroes_ that we are, we kept our heads down, Cap, and took care of business."

"I could see that."

"Yeah, you took care of business, alright, Dwyer. 'I don't wanna go up in there, I'll get claustrophobic'," Johnny mocked, chuckling along with the rest of the group.

"Oh, not at all, Gage. I merely wanted to allow our _junior_ rescue members to gain more experience and help build up their confidence."

"Build up confid—! Are you kiddin' me, Dwyer? I don't recall you being there when Roy and I had to dangle 300 ft. up on a crane to rescue some fool who'd changed his mind from jumping off of it."

Hank saw Roy whisper something to Johnny who moved his hand down subtly in a 'keep it down' gesture. Roy nodded with a resigned look on his face and sat back up in his chair.

Dwyer thumbed to his partner. "Oh yeah? Hansen and I had to rappel down 1500 feet into a ravine…"

Hank clasped his hands together and sighed._ Yeah. Here we go. War stories. Wish I'd stayed home. Aw, dammit! That James Cagney movie was on, tonight. Wish I'd remembered sooner. With Judy out and the kids studying, I would've had a great time. _By myself_. Instead, I gotta hang out with these twits just to listen to _this_ all night. I wonder who's worse, firemen or fishermen? This was a bad idea. Maybe if I yell 'Fire!' I could just sneak on outta here…_

"That ravine is not 1500 feet, Dwyer!" Johnny was arguing. "Roy, is that ravine 1500 feet?"

"I'd figure it to be a couple thousand, at least," Roy answered in a complete deadpan.

Stoker spewed beer all over himself.

"Yeah, see—!" Johnny turned to his partner in a flash, "Now just hold on a second, Roy, whose side are you on, anyway?"

"The side of peace and quiet. Anyway, we're glad you're here, Cap," Roy smiled.

"That ravine is _not_ 1500 feet," Johnny muttered and flicked a beer cap at the hysterically laughing Dwyer.

"Yeah, we were afraid you'd gotten lost or something," Marco said, sitting kitty-corner from Stanley. "Chet and Gavin almost started a betting pool."

Stanley took a swig of his beer and eyed Chet, who had leaned in to Marco, whispering something. "Mm-hmm."

"It was all in fun, Cap," Chet quickly reassured his scowling captain. "Gav figured you weren't gonna show."

"_Ahh_, no, Kelly! _You_ bet that he wasn't gonna show. _I_ said he would. _You_ owe _me_, my little petite cabbage."

Dwyer, sitting next to his shiftmate, quickly leaned over and tried to kiss Platko on the lips.

"Fuck, Dwyer, you _fuck!_" Gavin fell out of his chair with his arms over his face, trying to ward off the senior paramedic, to the howls and catcalls of the others.

"Two-timer," Dwyer accused in a falsetto voice, flipping his napkin daintily. "You said _I_ was your _only_ petite cabbage."

"Yeah, and I'll stuff one right up your ass. Ma'am. Shit, C," Platko scowled, trying to hide his laugh as he wiped his face.

Garrison put a hand out to Dwyer, who gave him a high-five.

"Maybe you two oughta get a room," Hansen suggested.

"Hey, I know a really great love nest, down over in Hollywood, where I was stationed before I came up to 51s. Just mention my name, you can get a discount," Chet sipped his drink.

Johnny snorted.

Gavin leaned on the table towards Chet, eyeing him lustily. "Just say the word, Kelly, and I'll dump ole Dwyer here. Then it'll just be you and me, baby."

"I'd love to, Gav, but my schedule's pretty full."

"Of bullshit," Gage muttered, head bowed, trying to hide a grin.

Chet caught Cap looking at him as he turned toward Johnny, mouth open for a rebuttal, but his eyes slowly dropped, instead, and he grabbed some peanuts from the dishes being passed around. "Hey Dwyer, wanna hear somethin' funny about Gage?"

"Oh, go get a peanut allergy, Chet," Johnny sniped.

Cap also grabbed some peanuts and decided he wasn't in the mood for a Gage v.s. Kelly sparring match. He audibly cleared his throat as a preemptive strike against Chet and turned his attention to his junior paramedic, "So, John, what were you doing up in the ceiling?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it, Cap," DeSoto answered.

"This place was a madhouse when we came," Stoker explained.

"I noticed."

"Well, first, there was this bird loose in here. Biggest mother pigeon you ever saw," Dwyer demonstrated the size of a 14 lb-bowling ball.

"It wasn't that big," Stoker murmured.

Dwyer swiveled his head back to the engineer, "Hush, Stoker! I'm tellin' the story, okay? Anyway, Cap, you shoulda seen it. She was _huge!_ We chased her around for about twenty minutes until we finally managed to get her cornered in the kitchen. Someone got the idea to shut off the lights in the dining room so she'd go toward the lights in the kitchen."

"But…you would do that for a _moth_, not a _bird_," Stanley said, his voice rising at the end, flabbergasted.

"That's what _we_ said," Marco griped, as Stoker, DeSoto and Hookrader all vigorously nodded.

"But it worked!"

"Yeah, but not for the reason you think it did, Dwyer." Marco turned to Cap, "We opened up the ceiling duct because she just wouldn't go near any of the doors. Figured her instinct was probably to go 'up', so we opened the ceiling duct to at least get her out of the restaurant."

"So while we were chasing our dinner, the restaurant staff was testing the new dishwasher which, as it turns out, hadn't been installed properly and it started leaking all over the place," Hookrader added.

"_Then_ we had to fix that fucking screw-up with the fan," Gavin Platko complained, gesturing to the room at large.

Stanley's eyes roamed the restaurant with an experienced once-over glance. "They forgot to open the outside vent, right?"

"Close enough, Cap. Damn fools _nailed_ the vent shut when they installed the new system," Platko spat.

"What kind of crazy ass contractors did they hire, anyway? So, what were they making that—?"

"Grilled vegetables for the antipasto. Except, they accidentally burned them," Roy explained.

"I thought those were supposed to be marinated."

"Chef figured we'd want 'em grilled since we're fireman. Yeah, I thought the same thing," Hookrader added at Stanley's rolled eyes. "But we all realized that something was wrong, obviously, when the smoke started comin' in. We took the drinks out from our coolers, put in their stuff from the fridge and switched off the breakers. Figured the refrigerator and meat locker were probably next, anyway," Hookrader scowled, grabbing some peanuts.

"Well, looks like I got here just in time."

"Well _I_ still think we oughta get a bonus or somethin' when we do animal rescues," Johnny commented.

"You should write up that rescue in the journals, Gage. John Gage, Rescue Man, Firefighter, Paramedic, Animal Handler specializing in Pigeon. A man who keeps all of his jobs close to heart."

"Stuff it, Chet, before I bring it back here and make you eat it."

"Not unless it's marinated in a red wine sauce, with mushrooms and garlic."

"Only _you_ would think that sounds even remotely appetizing," Johnny scowled.

"That doesn't sound half bad, Chet," Charlie Wilson called from the kitchen.

"Oh yeah, my uncle used to make it whenever he was able to get squab."

Johnny rose from his seat, walked over, and started to palpate Chet's skull. The lineman threw up an arm and wriggled out of Johnny's clutches as everyone else laughed. "Whaddya doin', Gage?"

"Palpating for a head injury. Really, Chet. If you're gonna make something up, at least make it plausible. _Squab? _ What the hell is that?"

"Pigeon, Johnny, my dear boy. A squab is a _pigeon_."

"_Pigeon?_ You're puttin' me on," he said, returning to his chair.

"No, he ain't, Gage," Charlie Wilson answered. "Hey, Kelly, your uncle still got a recipe for that that he's willin' to share?"

"Oh yeah, C. Not that he used a recipe, mind you, but I'll ask him what he put in it. I'll try to remember to leave it for ya, next shift."

"That'd be great. Thanks."

"Are you guys kiddin' me? Squab? Seriously? People really eat pigeons?"

"Sure, Johnny. Think of it like quail," Marco suggested.

"Oh, well, yeah, I can see that, I guess."

Chef Rosa walked out to the group, wringing his hands and looking apologetic. "Eh, we-a no have-a the grilled vegetables, tonight. We want to make because you are a-firemen, no? You like a-fire, yes?" Fulvio beamed. "But, uh, is-a no good now, so we use marinated. Is ok, yes?"

"Okay by me," Hank smiled at Chef.

"Whatever you want to do is fine by us," Hookrader said.

Rosa clapped his hands together. "Grazie! Eh, so, ah, we bring the antipasti and then we bring-a salad and then the piece de resistance, eh!"

The kitchen staff brought out the antipasti platters and the firefighters dug in.

Hank sat back and watched the men of A- and C- shifts banter about their past rescue and fire stories as they wolfed down everything on the antipasti platters, each shift trying to outdo the exaggeration of the other. Well, it was mainly C-shift against Kelly, Gage and the occasional barb of Lopez.

Hank rubbed his eyes and tried to shake off the tendrils of fear that still enshrouded him like cigarette smoke. Garrison bellowed a friendly yet incendiary comment about A-shift, which engendered a rippling, threatening growl amongst them. Marco quietly answered with a verbal right hook at Dee's expense and laughter erupted among the entire group. Hank sat silently as he grimly watched everything through a disorienting veil of _memento __mori_ nostalgia, unable to see the men before him as anything but specters, inhabiting a place and time that used to be but was no longer

Stoker got up, moved over to Lopez, clapped a hand on his shoulder in appreciation, and headed across the dim room.

The uneasiness grew in his chest as Hank watched his engineer.

'_Mike? Say again! I can't read, you, pal…'_

'_Engine 51! Cap! We got ether…!_

'_There's no sign of 'em, Hank.'_

_Mike… Don't… Don't…go... Mike!_

Panic set in his features. "Mike…" he whispered and nearly rose out of his seat to follow him.

"Cap, we already asked him. Do you want one?"

Stop. Settle back down. Blink. Turn. "What?"

"Did you want any of the Caesar salad?" Lopez was asking. "We already asked Mike."

Hank closed his eyes for a moment then blinked them open and looked at his lineman. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. I'll, I'll have some. Sure."

"Yup. Eleven salads, Chef."

Chef Rosa, standing at the table, clapped his hands and smiled broadly. He signaled to the kitchen and a cart with bowls and bottles was wheeled out. As a special treat, Chef Rosa was going to make the salad himself, at tableside.

Captain Stanley sank down in his seat, quietly sighed, and rubbed his face. He set his elbows on the table and leaned his thumbs against the bridge of his nose. As he heard the cart rumbling closer, he curled one hand into the other and set his fist against his mouth to watch Rosa work, never noticing that Hookrader was silently watching him.

* * *

><p>A piercing whistle split the air and the still hungry and exuberant firemen all quieted down and glanced at Hookrader, standing at the table, the last of the salads having been set before the expectant group.<p>

"Alright, men, the show's about to start. But, uh, before we get to the main reason we're here, I'd like to thank Chef Fulvio Rosa and his staff on behalf of Station 51 for allowing us this treat."

"Eh, no. I-a thank-a _you_, a-Captain Hookrader, for a-saving my ristorante!"

Garrison stood and began to applaud. In moments he was followed enthusiastically by the rest of the assembled crews, the applause punctuated by whistling and an occasional whooped yell.

"Chef, the pleasure is ours," Hookrader continued as the men settled back in their seats. "The menu tonight, gentlemen, as you all know, is fish piccata. Our own Chef Wilson pitted against Chef Rosa. Both men will be preparing their dishes differently and with various spices, yet neither has seen fit to divulge what, although I did really, really try."

"Hansen and I can take care of that, Cap," Dwyer suggested with a knowing look.

"Hey, Dwyer, I've got a whole butterfish I can give you," Wilson called from the kitchen.

Johnny yelped out a laugh and slapped the table, causing a number of confused expressions to turn in his direction.

Dwyer leaned on the table toward the A-shift paramedic, "What's that supposed to mean, Gage?"

Johnny looked around at the faces staring back at him, then at the scowl on Captain Hookrader's face. "I…I can't say."

"Gage…" Chet growled.

"Look, we're about to eat. You don't want your appetites ruined, do ya? Well, do ya?"

Disappointed faces turned back to Hookrader.

"Thank you. As I was _about_ to say, Mr. Gage, Chef Rosa's sous chef, Chef Liest, formerly one of the premiere bakery chefs in New York City, will afterwards kindly grace us with our choice of lemon soufflé or cherries jubilee, both of which, I have no doubt, will be worthy of the good Lord, Himself."

More whoops and cheers.

"Sounds like one or two of us are well marinated already. Any questions?"

"Yeah, Cap. What kind of fish are we having?" Gavin wanted to know.

Hookrader snapped his fingers, "Of course! I almost forgot the biggest surprise. We're in for a superb treat, boys. Chef Rosa just brought back some fresh fish from Hawaii! We'll be having mahimahi."

"Well how fresh can that be?" Johnny asked.

"They wrapped it and kept it on ice, Gage. What, you think he bought airline tickets for each fish?" Kelly answered.

"Oh, shut up, Chet," Johnny griped back.

"What kind of fish is that? I only eat fish I can pronounce," Dwyer wanted to know, winking at Hansen, who had reached out and whacked his arm.

"Mahimahi? Aw, c'mon, Dwyer. Just say 'mahi' twice," Charlie Wilson complained from the kitchen.

Wilson looked up to see Dwyer falling all over his partner in laughter. The C-shift lineman pelted a garlic clove at Dwyer through the arched window-way. Dwyer yelped, rubbed his head and kept laughing.

Marco leaned over to Cap, "Now I see why Hookrader is so strict."

Stanley looked up from the tip of the knife on the table he wasn't aware he'd been staring at, "Hm?"

Mike inwardly sighed. He'd kept an eye on Cap since Rosa started in on the salad. Cap had stared at the table the entire time and his only acknowledgement to anything going on around him was to answer Marco, just then.

"…it's a pretty mild fish," Wilson was saying. "Not too fishy-tasting, actually."

"Well, this I gotta try, then," Dwyer smiled.

Charlie Wilson's expression descended into a sneer and his voice crackled with a sinister edge, "Oh, you'll like it. Don't worry. Mwahahahaha!" Charlie showed his teeth and held up his knife.

"You're dead meat, Dwyer," Chet patted him on the back.

"Yeah, but I'll have the best last meal ever," he patted his belly.

"Well, while we're enjoying the salad... Chefs, we await your pleasure," Hookrader gestured.

The gang settled into their salads while the chefs prepared in the kitchen.

"Hey, Roy, hand me the pepper, will ya?" Dietrich asked.

"There's fresh pepper already in there," Roy pointed out.

"No disrespect to Chef, but his sense of seasoning and mine don't jive, like a little tiny flea in a honey bee hive. I gots ta tell ya, Roy, I do like me some pepper."

Roy passed down the pepper shaker, "Knock yourself out."

DeSoto returned to his salad and noticed Mike stealing surreptitious glances at Cap. Roy nudged the quiet engineer, "Everything okay, Mike?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you can tell me to mind my own business, but…I couldn't help noticing that you keep lookin' at Cap, like you're expecting him to choke on his salad, or somethin'. You know something we don't?"

Stoker chewed for several moments in contemplation. His brief observations of Captain Stanley's behavior of late had proverbially perked up his ears, but nothing Cap had done was necessarily any different than anything he'd done before and certainly none of it had any effect on his ability to do his job. Nor could he concretely conclude any of it as being overtly worrisome. _Maybe he's having insomnia_, which could account for him finding Cap's bunk empty; they'd all suffered from it, at one time or another. So he lost his temper a couple of times. Not usual for him, but not so unusual as to deem it an alarm-ringing event. The only issue that was an anomaly was Cap's apparent "dizzy episode" at the ambulance rescue, yesterday, which he still wasn't buying. But one possibly explainable incident wasn't necessarily cause for alarm. For Mike to make any kind of accurate assessment to confirm his instincts he had to enlist another set of observant, yet discreet, pair of eyes. So he did. "I don't know, Roy. Truth be told, I'm a little worried about him. I think something's going on."

"Why do you say that? I mean, aside from his being a little grumpy, last coupla shifts."

"Just…things I've noticed."

"You think there's something going on at work or do you think something's going on at home?" Roy asked.

Out of all of them, Stoker would be the one most likely to know. He had come to think of Mike and Cap's relationship as similar to his and Johnny's. There was a natural partnership between them as there was the obvious one between him and Gage. Not that he necessarily expected Cap to confide in any of them about deeply personal issues. But Stoker would be the one to pick up on even the slightest changes in Cap's behavior that might escape the rest of them. As second in command, he had to be attuned to that moreso than any of the rest of them. If anything ever happened on scene that Cap was unable to handle, Stoker had to be ready to step in at a moment's notice. In some ways, his job at reading the crew was as challenging as Cap's.

"Don't think so."

"Well, maybe he's just worried about Captain Kachowski and his wife," Roy bit into his salad.

"Maybe."

Mike's unconvinced tone began to ring alarms in Roy's head. _It's not work, it's not home, and it's not Ed Kachowski. It _could_ be a thousand other things._ But for Mike to be concerned meant it must be something he'd suspect would affect the job and if that was the case, there might really be something to worry about, which worried him. Roy put his fork down, "When you say you've noticed things, just what have you been noticing?"

"I'm not sure, Roy. Just…little things."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

Mike cast a preposterous eye at him.

"Yeah. I see what you mean. Any of the other guys notice anything?"

"Don't know. Haven't brought it up. Kinda feel like I need to collect more evidence. Sounds stupid, I guess. But I feel like…I dunno. I need to gauge what's going on before confronting him about…what's going on. If that even makes sense."

"It does, strangely enough. Okay, Mike, my paramedic radar's officially been turned on. But you're gonna make me paranoid."

"Doesn't mean they're not out to get us."

"Fantastic. First it was just you. Now it's _us_."

"Hey, I refuse to end up in the funny farm all by my lonesome."

"Maybe the fish'll be poisonous and I'll die on the spot."

"Maybe. But you've got three paramedics who'll try to save you."

"Well, then hide the antidote, will ya?"

Mike chuckled.

Finally, the show was on.

Both chefs, side by side, took their place at the stove. C-shift cheered and hollered for their own, while A-shift, just for the sake of equality and fairness, cheered and applauded the proprietor.

Flames shot up and reached toward the ceiling and everyone whooped and hollered, feeling the heat even that far from the stove. "Whoa, Nellie! Aaaarrriiibaaaa!" Charlie Wilson whooped in delight.

Fear flashed in Cap's eyes as he watched. Ghostly pain lit up his right side and he tasted the metal again as he was shoved up against the Engine...

…'_John! Marco!' Silence. 'Answer me, dammit…!'_

…'_14, Truck 29. We got nothin', 14. No egress. No sign of 51…' _

…'_Battalion 14, this is 127. No contact, Chief…'_

He pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. Then in one sudden movement, he moved the chair back as he rose, and walked quickly across the room, seemingly following Mike's previous path to the Men's Room.

Roy started to push his chair back to go after him, sensing something off-kilter in Cap's manner as he watched him move across the room. But a hand stayed him. DeSoto looked and noticed Mike's hand on his arm, then followed Mike's gaze to Hookrader, who was trailing after Cap. The two senior men of A-shift exchanged a glance, both keeping a wary eye toward the hall.

******~x~z~x~******

…'Engine 51! Cap, we got ether!'…

…'Evacuate immediately!'…

…The numbers emblazoned on the Squad: 5. 1…

_Hank kicked the sheets off away from him and swung his long legs off the bunk, shaking, holding his chest trying to breathe. He shook his head then winced as he moved his right arm. He tried to wrench his mind back from the barrage of images and voices that wouldn't stop. He looked around the dark and quiet dorm until his eyes settled on the clock – 11:19. Not even half a day had gone by since they'd gotten toned out and yet his life seemed to have been compressed into a sliver of time that both snapped in the blink of an eye and stretched into eternity. _

'Somebody has to have seen them! 92, do you have them?'

'Inside half a minute close…'

Oh, God…!

_His expression twisted into one of anguish. His near-panting sounded loud in the silence and he stifled the half-sob that nearly broke from him. He felt the perspiration break out at his hairline and his body went cold. The glands under his jaw seemed to swell and burn, carving a path for an iron clump of bile to settle in his gut. He rocked in his bunk and his breathing turned shallow to fight the nausea that constricted his throat. But he couldn't fight it any longer. Captain Stanley put on his bunkers, made for the latrine and retched until his stomach muscles burned with the effort._

_His body finally tired of heaving itself empty. Stanley cleaned up, flipped off the light and quietly entered the dorm again. He stood in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust. But the memories became sharper in the absence of light and the sickening fear coalesced out of the gloom to churn in his gut. Hank took in a shuddering breath and quietly bolted from the dorm, slipping past Stoker's peaceful form and out into the apparatus bay. _

_A police siren faded as it sped down the street. Hank stumbled out of the kitchen door and fought against the dread that pinned his boots to the asphalt. He stopped moving and looked up to the open sky, closed his eyes and sucked in the cool night air. He combed a hand through his hair and ambled over to his car to sleep in the back seat then sighed when he realized he didn't have his keys. He turned, his foot ready to take that step back inside the station. But anxiety leapt within him and stayed his ground. The mere idea of setting foot inside…of returning to that dark station…those dark rooms… _

…_to the fire…_

…they swam through the smoke and through a connecting corridor between two buildings, where the low thunder of water was louder. Johnny and Marco stopped, listening then headed into a storage facility with a loading dock area strewn with canisters and piles of equipment. Banging and yelling could be heard coming from a partially open elevator door along the back wall, blocked by ceiling debris…

'All units, all units, Battalion 14 – report in…'

'Come in goddamn it, come in…!'

…_No. Stop… Please… Make it stop…_

_His heart raced, his chest constricted, his breathing quickened and he put a hand out to help him settle on the bumper and he felt the vehicle sag under his weight. He laid his hands on his knees and tried to quell the storm of sickening dread that had taken up permanent residence in his gut. _

_He looked up and around, trying to focus on the place and the space that he'd called home for the last several years. Its red brick and white roof had become a lifeline of comfort for him whenever they returned from a run – his safe zone._

_No longer…no longer… He strove to conjure happy memories of times gone by to exorcise the Sickness weighing in his chest. But everything he looked at, every inch of the station he laid eyes on brought a wave of Black Fear so dense, so thick that were he to allow it to fully materialize it would envelope him so utterly that he would never get out from under it. _

_His eyes flittered about rapidly, desperately, around the station's environs, seeking Some Place that did not invoke the Devil to lunge at him and rip his heart from his chest._

_Finally, a random, insignificant spot on the pavement seemed to keep the Fear leashed and muzzled, for whatever reason he wasn't about to question. Hank latched his eyes onto it, too afraid to look elsewhere and he stared at it, feeling the Fear step back…to wait…_

…_his head bobbed and Hank jerked awake. _

_He wiggled his rump to a more comfortable position and he stared again as his tired eyes settled on that insignificant spot on the pavement…his head bobbed and Hank jerked up, but not quite awake._

_His head bobbed…and he jerked up. _

_His head bobbed…_

_His head bobbed…_

_His head bobbed…_

…_and a feeling of utter bliss and weightlessness enveloped his entire body. A fleeting yet tangible moment of nothingness became the essence of his experience and he reveled in it…_

…_until something solid and unyielding slammed unmercifully into his right shoulder and the side of his face._

_Stunned, Hank remained still. Eyes still closed, he did an internal assessment and deduced that everything seemed okay. Then he performed an external assessment. Something definitely hard and heavy was smashed up against his entire right side. There was no external noise different from what he remembered (last) and…no other event appeared to be following what had just happened. Whatever that was…_

_Hank fluttered open leaded eyes… and saw a cracked and pixelated world. Black. The smell of…asphalt? He cocked his head at something farther afield in his vision. The back door of the bay was… sideways…_

_Then the pain rolled in._

"_Ow… God…dammit! Son of a bitch…!" Hank moaned. He finally got himself oriented to his own body and slowly rolled himself up. He leaned against his car bumper, breathing heavily, and rubbed his arm and shoulder, still stiff and smarting after the explosion that had slammed him into the discharge panel. He rubbed his right temple and felt wetness. _

Shit_. _

Nice going, you Twit.

_He gingerly picked himself up and stumbled to the passenger side of the car. Without thinking, he grabbed the handle…and the door opened._

Goddammit. She left it unlocked! Again. Christ. What next? Break a leg while I'm taking a leak?

_Relief suffused with his anger and he dropped hard into the passenger seat. He delved into the overstuffed glove compartment to find his wife's missing sunglasses amongst his checkbook, maps, the car manual and all the other junk and grabbed… the pack. Forgetting that his head was bleeding, Hank took out the battered, unopened pack and stared at it in the diffused streetlight._

God, I wonder how long these have been in here?

_His eyes went distant but he failed to recall when he'd last changed them out._

_But…nevermind. That wasn't what he'd been looking for. He rummaged further and found the first aid kit. He tapped his skull again, but the wound was already healing._

Well so much for that idea…

_He smashed the contents of the glove compartment up further inside and shut the door._

_He leaned against the passenger seat and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In a way, there was no real reason he couldn't just go home. Chief had stood them down since the pump gear was shot, save for the Squad and it's not like he was gonna ride with Gage and DeSoto on a rescue run. _

Gage.

DeSoto…

'Hey, Marco, you wanna trade?'

'Well, Cap, make a wish…'

_Hank put his hands up to his eyes in a desperate attempt to stifle the blubbering sob that engulfed him without warning. He blinked back the escaped tears as his head lolled along the top of the seat. Sniffling the misery further away, he irritably wiped his face, opened the lock on the back door and started to get out of the front seat so he could lie down in the back._

_But his hand touched something on the seat. Hank looked down. _

_The pack._

I thought I put you back in the glove compartment…?

_Stanley grabbed it, contemplated it again, finger tracing back and forth, feeling the smoothness of the plastic wrap. His body trembled with anticipation, his tongue tasting it, his lips moving into position automatically, his fingers feeling the ghosts of past rolls between them, even after all these years. _

_God, he almost died today. He could've died. So why would it matter? Why couldn't he do this again? How is not smoking going to keep him safe from hydrochloric acid? A collapsed floor? A snakebite? _

_An explosion._

_Didn't save his men._

_Wouldn't save him._

_He should've been there, dammit. He should've…been with them…_

_All the logic and protocols in the world…_

_He should've…_

_Hank ripped open the pack and tapped one out. He foraged for the lighter in the glove compartment then exited the car. He leaned against the frame, the cold metal biting on his skin. _

_The lighter flicked soft and yellow, a halo of light that whimpered in fright at the surrounding darkness. The cigarette glowed bright for several moments and Hank closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of the nicotine infusing his body. A long, white trail expelled from his lungs as he slowly breathed out the first smoke he'd had in years, coughing only a little as his lungs began to remember. _

_He looked up at the clearing sky, with only a few bright stars to shine through the smog. A glowing, red ember meandered across the sky in a lazy trail that finally disappeared among the city lights._

'_You should make a wish, honey.' She'd said to him last night as they snuggled in the lawn chairs in the backyard, watching with the kids what little of the meteor shower they could catch in the city glare._

_And he did…_

_He stood there and peered at the empty spot where the meteor trail had tapered off and vanished. _

Thanks for nothing, you son of a bitch.

_Another cigarette. And when that one was done, he lit another._

_And then another._

'…We are unable to engage the pump. Request assignment…'

'…Ladder 38's been moved to cover the roofs at the north end. I'll send 110 to watch your backs…'

'…Look, my alarm's been going off…'

_And then another._

_And another…_

And all the Chief's engines and all of Cap's men_…_

_The cigarette fell from his fingers and traversed empty space, sparking red embers that died in the night as it hit the asphalt and bounced, bounced and rolled along the ground, still smoldering, to land near the five charred remnants._

_A hand slid raggedly down the side of the car, another covered his eyes that balled loosely into a fist. His body was rigid, his expression frozen in grotesque anguish. His shoulder hit the car as he sank down, his body turned against the lifeless metal and he jolted as he awkwardly hit the ground. _

_Glued to the pavement, he sat shaking and crumpled, and in silent agony, wept._

****~x~z~x~****

The wind picked up a bit, bringing the cold air with it. Hank hunched futile against the breeze that leeched the warmth from him through all the tiny holes between the weaves of denim. The rank stench of stale beer and garbage wafted from the nearby trash bins, but the odors failed to register in his mind.

Hank stared at it, rubbing it between his fingers.

"You want a trash can for that? Or a light?"

Stanley sighed and clamped down on the anger that had shot up. He narrowed his eyes at Hookrader, who was standing on the last concrete step outside the delivery door, an expression of compassion on his face. Hank looked back down at the roll in his fingers, his annoyance waning just a little. "After I finished my probie year and she realized I was a real firefighter, Judy decided I was going to breathe enough of this stuff on the job that she didn't want me doing it at home. So we quit. Both of us. I've kept a pack in the car, ever since. A reminder of the pact I made with her. And the kids."

Hookrader ventured down a step. "All the boys I knew in the Navy smoked. I did it just to fit in. Never really did care much for the stuff. So I became a smoke eater. Go figure."

Hank hunkered against the wind, eyes never leaving the promise in his hand.

"You…really gonna break that pact?"

He rolled it again, relishing the feel of the smooth paper against his roughened fingers; remembered his first-born's soft, smooth skin against the callouses on his palms. He blinked back the tears stinging his eyes and saw the little stained-glass window above the door.

Saw the glass in his hands at his grandmother's fireplace…

The little colored shapes that made the world rosy and light and safe.

When everything was new. And he was happy.

When that glass piece cut his finger and he'd bled…

"Shit," Cap swore under his breath as he dropped the cigarette and it rolled away in the chilly breeze.

"C'mon, inside, Hank. Out of the cold. Your friends are waiting."

"I'll be in in a minute," he said nearly to himself.

He waited till Hookrader slowly stamped back up the steps and listened for the closing of the door. Hank reached into his breast pocket and tapped out another cigarette. Keach would kill him if he knew he even kept these in his car.

He started to put it to his lips, but looked at it, again. Memories of a young Hank full of life and promise skipped merrily through his mind. Judy's warm, supple skin against his.

God, he missed her. He'd taken to sleeping on the couch, wondering if she'd bought his excuse that his back was hurting. Even she couldn't drive away the images that haunted him. Or the voices that wouldn't stop…

Stanley shivered and glanced again at the crisp, white roll in his hand.

"_You…really gonna break that pact?"_

_You sanctimonious little…Mind your own damned business_. Quickly, he lit the cigarette and took a drag, feeling comforted and bitterly ashamed all at once.

He no longer shied from the biting wind, but turned, instead to face it fully. He drew out the cigarette like it was the last one on earth, never flinching from the biting cold. When he could draw no more from the dead roll, he dropped it, ground it beneath his numb foot, then, barely able to feel his body, turned, shivering, and trudged back up the steps.

**~!~ **~!~** **~!~****

The chefs stood proudly by and watched as the wait help finished serving each man a sample of both dishes.

Captain Hookrader rose at his seat and raised his glass. "A toast! To Chef Rosa, Chef Wilson, this fine establishment, and the men of Station 51."

"Here, here!" came a host of voices in answer as bottles and tankards clanked together.

"Bon apetite!" Fulvio exclaimed.

Cheers and applause erupted again and A- and C-shifts dug in to their meals with gusto.

Hank Stanley took a polite bite of each dish, pleasantly noting that both were actually pretty good and weren't in least bit 'fishy'. But he'd lost his appetite a long time ago. He settled for sipping at his beer, feeling detached and out of his element, still unable to shed the haze of death that covered everything he looked at.

Chet was enjoying the seemingly antagonistic dynamic between Garrison Dietrich and Charlie Wilson. But, he noted, in between insulting each other, both men went out of their way to help each other out; opening a bottle for the other or wiping something that had spilled on the other's clothes. He never realized Hookrader had his own Gage & Kelly Comedy Duo.

Johnny and Roy, of course, were talking shop with Dwyer and Hansen, though they often included Platko, Marco and Stoker, quite often. They all seemed to be enjoying the food and the company, laughter erupting often between them.

They were all here. They were laughing. They were enjoying. They were safe.

'_Hank, how many of your men were in there?'_

'_All of 'em…'_

"Would you like this boxed or are you still working on it?"

Hank felt his mind snap back from some distant place and he looked up into soft, brown eyes that reminded him so much of Judy's, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Would you like this boxed or are you still working on it? And will you be joining us for dessert?" she asked.

Hank stole a glance at Hookrader and found himself being watched. His annoyance welled again and he glanced around to distract himself. The wait help were already clearing the dinner plates and laying down clean dishes for dessert.

"No, I'm done, thanks."

Stanley quickly looked back at the empty spot on the table where his untouched dinner had been, eyes darting back and forth, his jaw working. Enough was enough. Exactly what he didn't want to have happen, happened. Damn Hookrader and his goddamned prying. He threw an enraged glance at the C-shift captain. _Why don't you go play shrink with a gasoline can and a lighter._ He threw his napkin on the table, rose and left.

Laughter erupted out of some mutual insults lobbied between Kelly and Dietrich. Both shifts soon joined in as the raucous banter escalated. Roy gently reached over, tapped Mike and pointed. The engineer turned and looked up just in time to see the front door close beyond Captain Stanley's empty chair.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **As always, grateful thanks to my beta readers for their time and effort to help.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

_[Day 7: off_

_Day 8: off_

_Day 9: off_

_**Day 10: 24-hour shift]**_

School children. Joggers. Wine-o's. Dog walkers. Business suits with briefcases. Elderly couples on an early morning stroll.

Life beyond his prison cage of fear, death and dread.

Hank came to a stop behind a green VW Bug and tapped out a cigarette. He pulled out the black lighter knob and held the glowing red side to the end of the roll he held between his lips. Two habitual puffs and the cigarette's tail drew white smoke in a beautiful, meandering trail that wisped upward in a thin, wavy line before he dangled it out the window between his fingers.

A delivery truck making a left passed his waiting lane and its low grumble caressed Hank's sickening memories before gently guiding them further and further down, gripping them tighter and tighter, puling and pulling until _the undercurrent of rumble from the water up top reverberated in the walls._

_They swam through the smoke and through a connecting corridor between two buildings, where the low thunder of water was louder. Johnny and Marco stopped, listening then headed into a storage facility with a loading dock area strewn with canisters and piles of equipment. Banging and yelling could be heard coming from a partially open elevator door along the back wall, blocked by ceiling debris._

_John was about to head toward the sound when a hand stopped him._

'_Hold it, John, hold it!' Cap looked up._

_The crew of 51 followed his gaze with their flashlights, seeing the glint of water trailing down._

'_Yeah, looks like it should hold, Cap,' Roy assessed._

'_None too long, though," Hank peered up. "We'd better make this fast….'_

Bile churned in his gut and a pressure began to build in his stomach. His throat constricted; he could feel his salivary glands burn as his mouth filled with saliva.

_God, no… please…_

…_stop…_

Hank looked around for a bag, a container, anything to throw up in… even as he tried to control his breathing to keep his breakfast where it belonged. He felt his body go cold. His skin tingled and sweat beaded on his forehead as he trembled.

A child's scream came to his ears. Across the way, a young boy was holding his open lunchbox, shrieking at the contents that were now piled on the ground. Gaggles of older children passed by him. Some ignored him, most just looked in sympathy or indifference and kept on going, determined to remain with their pack of friends.

Hank was grateful for the distraction; his stomach was starting to settle. But the tyke's distress pulled on his heartstrings.

_Someone help him, for fuck's sake!_

Finally, a much older girl had backtracked her way to the screamer, a sister if their hair color was anything to go by. She gathered up the young boy's lunch, returned what was salvageable to his lunchbox and walked with him down the street, holding his hand.

The tears took no effort to spring forth and Hank wiped his eyes as he watched them.

…'_Cap, I think we're gonna need the portapower to get some of this debris outta here,' Roy said, straightening up and panting with effort, his face red and flushed._

'_Yeah, okay, pal. Look, my alarm's been goin' off—'_

_"Go ahead. We'll keep trying, in the meantime.'_

'_Yeah. I'll bring back the portapower.'_

'_Okay, Cap!'…_

'_How many of your men were in there?'_

'…_There's no sign of 'em…' _

'_Mike….!' _

A short honk sounded behind him and Hank snapped his head up, his heart racing. Empty space had replaced the VW Bug that had been in front of him at the stop light. His eyes narrowed and he blinked through the fog of dark visions in his mind, unable to reconcile them with the reality of what his eyes were seeing.

Another honk, longer. _Shit_. With the lit cigarette between his fingers, Hank quickly waved an apology to the driver behind him and moved the car through the intersection.

Four days off in a row and Hank had _reveled_ in the hope of peace and quiet. But his plans for lengthy relaxation and escape had died that night at Manny's. The flashbacks had left him trapped in a tunnel of dark foreboding more intense than those that had plagued him since…that day…

He'd spent the next three days killing himself at the gym and working on Judy's honey-do list – mowing, cleaning the gutters, grocery shopping, working on the back porch, cleaning the window screens, doing work at Ed's house for him, helping his neighbor with his rock wall and every other little task he could come up with. Anything, anything, anything that required his full attention, that would tire him, exhaust him, force weariness into his bones so he could sleep blissful sleep that would make the images, the voices just stop, just stop, just _stop_ already…!

And with all that work and all those chores, he'd managed to keep the anxiety to a low-level buzz throughout most of their days off. Until last night, when the prospect of returning to work had released the genie from her bottle, wrapping herself around him like an obsessed lover…

"_Honey, are you alright? You've barely touched your dinner."_

"_I'm okay. Just…worried about Ed and Doris, y'know?"_

"_Yeah. I know...Maybe work will be busy and help distract you." Judy gave him a reassuring smile and reached out to grab his hand._

_He quickly stood up and grabbed his wife's plate after picking up his own, "Here, let me get that for you."_

"_Oh, I can get that, Honey—"_

"_No, no, I can do it." Forcing himself to move slowly and naturally, Hank tried to hide his trembling hands within the movements of the washing of the dishes…_

"God…dammit!" A burning pain suddenly seared his fingers and Hank violently shook the hand that was dangling out the window. The cigarette remnant flicked away from him, tossed onto the Los Angeles streets. Sucking on his burned fingers, he continued to drive, with the sense of foreboding following close behind.

He got to the bridge – and Anxiety slithered closer.

He got to the Quonset hut – and She crawled into his lap.

Hank pulled his station wagon into Station 51's parking lot, found a decent spot, and sat in the car. Anxiety burrowed itself into his chest and twisted his emotions into a tight knot in his gut.

He sucked on his fingers again and inspected the damage. Only a small red spot on his index finger was indication that anything had happened.

'…_After I finished my probie year and she realized I was a real firefighter, Judy decided I was going to breathe enough of this stuff on the job that she didn't want me doing it at home. So we quit. Both of us. I've kept a pack in the car, ever since. A reminder of the pact I made with her. And the kids...'_

_Crying out loud, why the hell did I ramble on like that to him?_

He checked his watch and calculated the time. Then he reached under his seat, pulled it out and pondered the spray can he had bought during his grocery run the other day.

**~!~**

Gene Hookrader took his nose out of the log book and turned at the rustling noise at the office door. His head reared back ever so slightly at the lanky silhouette with a backpack, standing in the doorway looking tired and a little hunched.

"I'm here to relieve you," the figure said in a raspy voice, then cleared his throat and stepped inside.

Hookrader replaced the page marker, closed the log book and stood up, scrutinizing his replacement still dressed in his civvies. "I'm hereby relieved. May God keep you and your men."

Captain Stanley inwardly shuddered at the older man's response as he placed his backpack onto the second desk, not noticing that Hookrader's nose had wrinkled when he moved past him to set his backpack down.

The mere sight of the C-shift captain tended to make Hank's blood boil nowadays but for the sake of keeping his sanity – and the peace – he tried to ignore the spike in his annoyance levels and maintain some sense of civility, "You want some coffee?"

Gene's eyes narrowed at the offer, surprised to hear it, what with Hank's surly mood toward him, of late. Not that Hookrader didn't understand it, but he still wasn't certain why Hank had placed a mile-wide gap between them, in the first place. "Stoker coffee? Is he here?"

"Saw his car out back."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Captain Stanley started for the door.

"You, uh…you left before dessert the other night," Gene called after him, watching his reaction.

Hank turned back to him, clamping down on another jolt of anger. _Well, sorry, Your Highness, I didn't realize I needed your goddamned permission to leave… _"I had to get home. Wanted to check on Judy."

Gene nodded, breaking eye contact. "Told Chef Liest as much. He felt pretty bad when I explained about Captain Kachowski. He made some dessert just for you and came by and dropped it off, last night. I left it for you in the fridge."

A thousand responses, some ugly and ungrateful and some giving off a friendliness and appreciation he didn't feel whipped through his mind. He dismissed them all and settled on neutral. "Thanks," Stanley mumbled and, in two steps, was out of the office.

The C-shift captain watched him leave and shook his head, debating with himself on whether to tell Hank that his attempted ruse this morning with the spray hadn't worked. And the fact that Hank had even thought that far tweaked Gene's worry up a notch.

Stanley stepped into the kitchen to find Roy talking to Mike. The two stopped when Cap walked in and they both flashed a small smile.

'Mornin'!" Roy greeted in a friendly tone as he kept an eye on his captain.

"Yeah, mornin'," Cap muttered. He made a beeline for the fridge, ready to toss out whatever Chef Liest had left for him. He yanked open the door and stopped at the huge package sitting on the bottom shelf with a note. Hank grabbed the note and read it as he slowly closed the fridge door. He looked up, shifted his weight and his thumb tapped on the card as his annoyance was replaced with shame.

"Were you lookin' for the milk, Cap?" he heard Stoker ask.

Cap spun around, "What?" He saw the mild looks of shock of his senior men and sighed. "I'm sorry, fellas. Just…having a helluva morning. No, I'm…I'm not looking for the milk, thanks Mike." He stepped over to the counter and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. "You guys have a good four days off?" he asked as a preemptive strike against someone asking him the same thing.

"Oh yeah, Cap, we were just talking about the dinner at the restaurant," Roy answered. "Boy, that was some party, huh? Joanne thought I was pulling her leg when I told her about all the commotion, beforehand. Finally had to have her talk to Mike so he could confirm that I wasn't making it all up."

"Yeah, she gave me the third degree to match it up with what Roy had told her."

"Is that right?" Cap absently responded as he poured the coffees. _Timing should be about right. Think I'll just about make it_… "Glad you had a good time. Roll call in 15, okay?"

"Okay, Cap," Mike acknowledged and he and Roy watched Cap leave.

"What do you think?" Mike asked.

Roy shrugged and he stood up to reach a section of the paper that was across the table. "Hard to say, at the moment. Guess we'll see how the day goes."

"Yeah," Stoker answered sipping his coffee, eyes out the kitchen door.

Most of C-shift was just coming out of the locker room and heading toward the kitchen as Hank made his way back to the office. He inwardly sighed with relief that his timing calculations worked. He stepped back into the office and handed Hookrader his coffee.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Hank grabbed his backpack. "I'll be right back," and he walked slowly over to the dorms.

Now that C-shift had mostly emptied out of the locker room, Hank was trying to time it just so between C-shift and his own crew and managed to make it in without talking to anyone. He tossed his backpack into his locker, changed into his uniform and rearranged a few of his things, his thoughts taking him back to the crazy antics of that party at Manny's. Sometimes, the boisterousness of C-shift buoyed his mood. But the last thing he wanted right now was to be around a bunch of goddamned noisy, obnoxious twits who had nothing better to do than act like idiots, like all if this was nothing but fun and games, like their jobs weren't _dangerous_, like people didn't get hurt, like people didn't _die—!_

He slammed his locker door.

C-shift's junior paramedic, Todd Hansen poked his head around the corner. "Cap? You alright?"

Hank snapped his head up at him, suddenly aware of himself. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered curtly and bolted from the locker room.

Inwardly shaking, Hank returned to the office, taking solace in the normalcy of the numerous voices in the kitchen as both shifts overlapped. He mentally shrugged into his professional demeanor as he walked back into the office. "Alright," Hank said to his counterpart, "What've you got for me?"

Gene held up a piece of paper and proffered it to Stanley. "Announcements from HQ."

Stanley took it, "What else?"

Gene pointed to the rest of the items on the desk in turn as he mentioned them between coffee sips, "A copy of the final report on our kitchen fire at Manny's restaurant; I thought you might be interested. A memo from the Chief on a couple of those new pry bar designs they want tested, and _this_ stack," - he held up a goodly number of phone messages nearly a quarter inch thick and set them down - "is all for you. _Again_. Call them back, will ya? Hennessey and I are tired of being your message service."

Stanley simply glared at the white-haired captain. "Is that it?"

Hookrader sighed. He'd intended to make his last comment sound like a casual joke between friends but his latent irritation had crept into his voice, crushing the jovial tone he'd intended. "Engine and Squad are all yours, though tell Stoker he'll need to top-off before the next run, if Dietrich hasn't told him, already."

"Yeah, thanks."

The white-haired captain gulped down the rest of his coffee and glanced at the clock: 0801. "Hank, I'm officially out of here. Thanks again for the coffee." He held up his mug, "I'll put this back in the kitchen."

Stanley already had his nose in the HQ announcements. "Yeah, okay."

Hookrader took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for a Hank Stanley Snap, "How's Doris doing?"

Hank paused for a moment, unsure how much Ed or Doris wanted people to know about their situation, but surprised that Hookrader had asked. "They're doing okay. Doin' okay. Thanks for asking."

"That's good to hear. Give them my best when you see them."

"I will." Hank watched Gene start to leave, his appreciation for the older captain's concern lightening his heart a little. Then he turned back to the HQ announcements.

Hookrader sauntered over to the door, fingers dancing on his pant leg, lips pursed in thought. Then he grabbed the doorframe, whirled around, and looked at the taller captain reading through the announcements, "Hank?"

"Hm."

"That Lysol™ stuff doesn't really mask the smell of cigarette smoke, you know. Figured you oughta know."

Hank snapped his head up to an empty office doorway. He threw down the HQ Announcements, laid his hands on his hips and sighed heavily.

**~!~**

_[several hours later]_

That familiar niggling in his brain slowly and almost imperceptibly became insistent and then finally almost unbearable and Hank considered how best to get in a quick drag without being noticed.

Better yet, if they would just get toned out, that'd solve his problem. It was turning out to be an awfully busy day, if their morning and subsequent comm traffic over the speakers was any indication. He'd been able to stave it off so far, for he was one of those lucky few that could get past the urge if his mind was sufficiently occupied long enough.

He leaned back in his office chair and picked up the note from Chef Liest again:

_Captain Stanley, _

_Captain Hookrader mentioned to me the unfortunate circumstance of your friend and colleague, Captain Kachowski and his wife. I am aware that you had to leave our celebration early and so missed, what I feel of course, was the best part of our evening. And so, I have created two dessert platters. One for you and your family and the other for your friend, Captain Kachowski and his wife, made with love and hopes for much healing in what must be a trying time for all of you. Please convey to your friend, the Captain and his family, that if ever they feel up to it, I and Chef Rosa invite them to Manny's Familia Ristorante for a free meal to celebrate life and good food. Bon apetite!_

_Chef Liest_

_Thanks, Chef…I'll let them know_…

Several tones echoed in the apparatus bay and Hank nearly jumped out of the chair, his heart beating out of his chest. Willing himself to calm down, he headed out to the call station.

"_Station 51, Engine 86, Ladder 38. Structure fire, Still Waters Townhouse Complex, 642 Fernie St. 6-4-2 Fernie. Cross street 21st. Fire started with accelerant. Police and ambulance are responding. Time out: 1351."_

"Station 51, 10-4, KMG 365."

Captain Stanley handed Roy the address slip then ran to join his men on the Engine. As Big Red pulled out of the bay behind the Squad, Stanley ran through the preliminary logistics in his mind.

_Shit. 86s and 38s? Dollars to donuts, we'll end up getting there, first. Son of a bitch… Wonder if Stoker'll write me up if I tell him to go slow? _Hank took a deep breath as he felt a mote of panic begin to churn in his gut._ No, goddammit, don't do this. Not now. Alright, think. Think! Still Waters Townhouses. Still Waters Townhouses… Two-story houses, if I remember right. Two stories..._

Fear set in and Cap felt the bile rising as he considered the scenarios. The best possible scenario would be one with no rescue. And if that were the case and both stories were fully involved, he could relax. But if only one story was fully involved or if someone were trapped...

But Dispatch said an accelerant was used; ambulance was responding…

_No. God, no_…

'…_Take your men in for S&R, Hank…'_

'_Engine 51! Cap! We got ether...!'_

Dark Dread coiled around his chest _squeezing _until a panicked sigh escaped from his lungs as the intense wave of grief thrust through him.

Hank leaned forward with a hand over his face, trying to push the Dark Dread back where it came from and regain control of his emotions.

Stoker snapped a worried glance at him, having heard Cap's gasp over the siren and the roar of Big Red and the road noise. He was hoping he'd misheard the sound, but Cap's hunched posture was an obvious indication that he hadn't.

"Cap? Are you alright?" Mike asked, trying to keep half an eye on the Squad and the road, each, and the other eye on his captain.

The hand over his face slowly turned into a fist as Cap fought to regain control enough to at least answer his engineer.

"Cap?" Mike said louder, his voice taking on a firm tone as he mentally prepared to take control of the scene in case Cap went out on him.

His inability to maintain control at such a crucial time irritated Captain Stanley to the point of fury. Using his own rising anger at himself, Cap took a deep breath and fiercely drove the dread back down with a definitive mental _shove_, the effort mirrored in his grimaced expression. He clapped his hands on his knees and straightened in his seat, arms fully extended. After some moments, he finally looked across the cab at his engineer. "Sorry, Mike. Just a case of heartburn, I think. I'm fine." He pounded his chest with his fist as if to prove his case.

Mike sighed in annoyance and he glanced suspiciously at his captain before he focused back on the road.

Cap inwardly sighed, still feeling the dread simmering at the edge of his emotions, and he forced his thoughts to return to the fire they were racing toward._ God, I don't know if I can do this…_

The Still Waters Townhouses was a complex with townhouses built in units of three. As they rounded the corner of the street toward the fire, Captain Stanley could see several patrol cars up ahead, lights flashing. Crowds had gathered all along both sides of the street, held back by police officers.

Cap peered through the trees lining the street in an attempt to view the house, but the trees blocked his view and only black smoke billowing into the sky could be seen. Mike sounded the airhorn several times as they approached and they came to a squeaking stop not too far in front of the hydrant, which thankfully, wasn't too far from the unit on fire.

But no other fire crews were at the scene and Captain Stanley felt sick to his stomach.

Now in front of the house, Cap could see that the house on fire was the middle unit – the worst possible scenario. The black smoke was poring out of the lower windows, only.

Cap's breath hitched._ Fucking son of a bitch…_

"My house! He burned my house! _He burned my house!_ _My house!_" A young woman, screeching hysterically and pointing towards the blaze, was being held back by a police officer on the front lawn as a crowd had gathered to watch.

The shrieking woman's fear and anger and desperation was feeding his own and Captain Stanley clenched his eyes shut, feeling his anxiety rising. It was everything he could do to keep from hauling his men to safety and, instead, ignore the incessant Screaming of his own Fear to give the order to send them in…

"Somebody save my house! _Please! My house!_"

_Son of a bitch_… Cap's eyes flew open. Shaking, he broke out in a cold sweat and felt his chest constrict. He picked up the radio, took a deep breath and through sheer will alone, forced the words out. "LA, Engine 51, we have a three-unit, two-story townhouse, with the first floor of the middle unit fully involved. Have Engine 86 come up from the south to use the hydrant at Starling. All units out 2 hours."

"_Engine 51."_

Cap slid out of the cab, absently yanking off his gloves to relieve his increasingly sweating palms. He felt his mouth go dry and he took a deep breath and turned to his linemen, "Chet! Marco! Get a coupla two and a halfs," he jabbed several times toward the front door.

Officer Vince Howard ran up to Stanley, "Hank."

"Vince. We got anyone inside?" _Please, dear God_…

"No. It's all clear. The boyfriend threw gasoline all over the first floor."

Hank stifled the temptation to drop to his knees in relief. "What about the second floor?"

"Not according to the girl. She chased him out before he could get up there. We evacuated the adjoining units, just in case."

"Okay, thanks." Stanley watched Vince walk over toward a group of people who were inching too close to the scene and scooted them back.

A rhythmic thudding cued Hank back to the fire and he stepped forward in panic at the sight of Lopez and Kelly beating down the front door to get inside.

"Cap? We got anyone inside?"

The thudding began a roaring in his ears as the Dark Dread rushed at him…

…_Static erupted momentarily from the HT. Then again. Cap listened, trying to form a coherent pattern to the erratic spurts of voice and static coming like Morse code from the handie-talkie._

'_Mike?'_

_A burst of static._

_Stanley frowned in frustration. 'Mike? Say again! I can't read you, pal!'_

_Nothing. 'Mike – ?'_

_The sudden, horrific blast from the building shoved Stanley hard against the Engine, the right side of his body slamming into the discharge panel, his helmet flying off and clattering as it hit the pavement…_

Roy's voice from somewhere distant, "Cap?"

"Hey, Cap?" Pause. "What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know. Cap!"

A hand on his shoulder jolted Stanley from his reverie and he snapped his eyes into DeSoto's worried expression. Stanley frowned, eyes darting, trying to regain his bearings.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Cap's mind raced for an explanation. "Thought I…heard something. Coming from the house."

"Whaddja hear?" Johnny asked, looking toward the blaze.

"I don't know. Guess it was nothing." Stanley swallowed hard, forcing himself to give the order. "Go…assist Lopez and Kelly."

His rescue team started for the house. "And watch your backs! The fire was started with gasoline. This place could flash over any minute!"

"Okay, Cap," Johnny waved as he adjusted his air bottle and he followed Roy to the house.

Hank let out a deep breath, knees buckling. _Holy shit, I can't believe I almost forgot to tell them that._

He took several more deep breaths, trying to keep his anxiety at bay but managed only to keep his sense of awareness above its churning waters. Another siren approached and Stanley set relieved eyes down the street to see Ladder 38 rounding the corner.

Hank watched the truck race up the street, got on his HT and tried to keep his voice level, "Ladder 38, 51. We've got a middle townhouse unit on fire. Set up the aerial ladder to the second floor."

"_10-4, 51."_

The aerial ladder from 38s was slowly getting into position as the men of 51s made it into the house, water hissing and spraying in pretty, circular swirls as Marco and Chet rotated the nozzles. Johnny and Roy, respectively, were behind their shift mates helping to handle the lines.

Stanley looked at the blaze and then back toward the road, feeling his blood pressure rising; 86s still hadn't arrived. The faint tendrils of his Incident Commander persona that he'd managed to grasp onto began to slip from him, eclipsed by his increasing anxiety. _Jack where the hell are you? Get your ass over here, goddammit… _

Stanley checked the second floor for smoke, but only wisps were seen. He looked toward the roof and other units, but saw no visible evidence of the fire having spread to the attached houses.

At the edge of his hearing, another set of sirens approached, coming up from the opposite end of the street that 51s and 38s had arrived from. Stanley watched for several moments and then he spotted Engine 86 racing toward them.

_About fucking time_. "86, 51, take 2 attack lines to cover the rear of the middle unit."

"_Engine 86."_

As 86s engineer, Joe Harmon, brought 51s sister engine to a halt near the nearby intersection at Starling, Captain Jack Steiger stepped out of the cab, barking orders to his two lineman.

Hank's bubbling annoyance at 86s arrival smoldered at the sight of her captain and he watched Steiger's men haul their lines around the back.

Shouts and loud crunching noises erupted from within the house.

Cap's HT crackled to life,_ "Mayday! Partial ceiling collapse, first floor, east side! Two men down!"_

_No! _Stanley took a frightened step toward the house, his lungs filling in a sharp, terrified intake of air. He was on his HT in a flash but Dark Dread choked him and it took all his willpower to force words through the brick wall of anxiety that was suffocating him.

"86, 51! Take your men in for S&R!"

"_Engine 86." _

"_Engine 51, HT 51! Cap, we can get 'em out, but we're gonna need the O2 and the trauma box!"_

_Oh Jesus…_ Hank spun toward his Engine, thumbing the HT, clutching at his retreating Incident Commander persona by a thread, "10-4, HT 51. Mike! O2 and trauma box! And bring a backboard, just in case. Engine 86, take 51s position. Ladder 38s on the second floor."

"_10-4, Cap."_

"_86."_

"LA, Engine 51! Send me another paramedic unit, on the double!"

"_10-4, 51."_

Cap willed himself to move and he ran to the Squad to help Stoker carry the equipment. They set up a safe zone on the front lawn, laid blankets on the ground and prepared the equipment for the paramedics. "Mike, tell Rampart to standby." Stanley ran back to the house in time to see Marco being half-carried out by Roy while Johnny had an arm around Chet's shoulders, one leg off the ground.

"What happened?" Cap asked as he guided them over to the safe zone.

Johnny answered. "The ceiling kinda came down on us, Cap. I yanked Marco back when I realized it was happenin' right in front of us. I banged my knee against the stereo cabinet, and then Marco fell on top of me and got me right in the ribs. I yanked him back so hard, he let go of the nozzle and it whacked him right in the face. Then the flames got him in the leg."

"Okay, we've got a safe area set up right over here, and another paramedic unit on the way, okay?"

"Thanks, Cap," Roy said. "We got it from here."

"Are you guys okay?" He asked Roy and Chet laying shaky hands on their shoulders.

"Oh yeah, we're fine, Cap," Chet answered then turned his attention to his injured comrades.

Kelly and DeSoto helped Marco and John onto the blankets. Roy hovered over them while Chet took over the biophone duties from Mike. Stanley stepped away to allow them room and then lingered for some moments to watch his men.

The veil of _memento mori_ settled again in his vision, weighted down by grief, and he watched his crew as if through the lens of a discolored, jerky home movie…

…_scenes in slow motion, out of time_…

…Roy grabbed the stethoscope…

…Chet rifled through the trauma box for bandages…

…Marco put a hand up to the bloody gash on the side of his head…

…Johnny laid his arm across his forehead, face scrunched in pain…

…_moments past, of men long gone_…

Sirens approaching pulled his mind back to conscious awareness and Hank jerked his head up to see Squad 29 racing up the street. Then he started for a moment and frowned at the sight of ambulance attendants already on the scene, watching Roy getting Gage's vital signs.

With a churning in his gut that made him physically sick, Stanley took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to turn his back on his crew and return to the house to coordinate 38s and 86s men until the fire was fully knocked down, minutes later.

At the rear of the house, Captain Steiger left his men to start on the overhaul so he could make his way to the front to check in with Captain Stanley. Steiger found the taller captain speaking with Captain Ivar of 38s for some moments before Ivar walked off to check on his crew.

"Hank," the sandy-blond captain called as he approached. "Looks like we've got it knocked down, but there's some damage to the south unit. We'll start in with the overhaul. Why don't you go check in with your boys. Rodney and I can handle this," he offered, gesturing toward the blackened house.

Stanley glared at Steiger with unmasked fury. Then without a word, Stanley stalked off toward his injured men.

Steiger removed his gloves and watched Hank, his concern inching up at a rapid pace. He finally sighed and turned to rejoin his crew.

Jeff Mitchelli and Harrison Yoder of 29s were helping Roy and Chet get Marco and Johnny on the gurneys.

"How are they?" Stanley asked, trying to keep his voice even and controlled, though he wasn't sure he was succeeding.

"Well, Cap, I think they're gonna be just fine," Roy answered. "Marco's got some first degree burns on his leg and a gash on his head where the nozzle hit him. Johnny's got a bruised knee and had the wind knocked out of him and he might've pulled a muscle when he yanked Marco back."

Cap nodded and moved over to his injured men. "How're you guys feeling?"

"Oh, we're fine, Cap," Johnny answered with his characteristic grin.

"Yeah, we're okay," Marco repeated.

"How'd you manage to get whacked on the head with the nozzle?"

"When John yanked me back, I let go of the line. When I fell backwards on him, my helmet kinda came off. The line was dancing like crazy and it just cracked me right on the head."

Cap sighed and smiled, though his eyes couldn't mask the distress that was rocking his soul. He patted them each on the shoulder before Mitchelli and Yoder helped the ambulance attendants lift the gurneys inside.

"Cap, I'm gonna follow them in," Roy announced.

"Yeah, go ahead. Chet! Take the Squad in," Cap thumbed toward the road.

"Oh, I can do that, Cap," Mitchelli volunteered.

"Okay, thanks. Chet! Nevermind. You're off Squad duty. Let's get started with the overhaul, okay, pal?"

"No problem, Cap," Chet headed back to the house.

The ambulance doors banged shut, making Stanley jump at the sound and he pinched the bridge of his nose trying to get his emotions to calm the fuck down, once and for all.

But the couple began screaming at each other, caterwauling up a storm and the woman's shrillness was ripping Stanley's already fragile patience to shreds.

Hank spun toward them in rank irritation, hoping Vince or someone was about to intercede. But all he saw was the boyfriend, handcuffed, standing next to the patrol car while the woman was on her tiptoes, jabbing a pointed finger at him, screaming in his face, their chests puffed out toward each other, talking over one another, going at each other something fierce.

'…_And you know damn well it could happen again and if it does, you might not be so lucky….'_

Captain Stanley felt a surge of abject fury explode within him. He strode across the trampled manicured lawn toward the arguing couple.

The woman saw Stanley coming and puffed herself up with his authority. "Yeah! Now you're gonna get it, Jeremiah! _Now you're gonna get it!_" The woman screamed as Stanley came upon them.

'…_Mayday! Partial ceiling collapse, first floor, east side! Two men down!...'_

Hank roughly grabbed the suspect by the arm and jostled him as he pointed at the house. "You sonofabitch! Your _jackass_ stunt put my men at risk! Now I've got _two men_ hurt because of it! Did it ever _occur_ to you that someone was gonna have to come over here and _put this fire out!_ _Didja ever think o' that!_"

The defensive, haughty attitude of the young man shriveled as he shrank back from the tall captain's verbal and physical attack.

Suddenly, a presence appeared at Hank's side. A low, bass voice, quiet and firm quickly followed, "Hank, let go of him."

Stanley tightened his grip on the young man's arm whose face began to contort in agony. Vince Howard's voice didn't waver, "Hank, I mean it. Let go of him." Hank's grip didn't lessen as he stared the boy down. Vince laid his hand on Hank's iron grip, positioning his thumb along the radius bone. "Hank, I'm not gonna say it again. Let go of him or I'll take you in for assault."

Tears began to form in the young man's eyes, his mouth agape and he inched higher to stand on his toes in a futile effort to relieve the crushing pressure on his arm. Hank felt Vince's thumb press increasingly hard against the bone in a very deliberate and clinical move until a sharp pain seared his wrist.

Stanley released the perpetrator with a shove against the car before Vince's vice grip crushed the nerve. Hank leveled Vince with a dark look, yanked his hand from the officer's grasp and stalked off.

Vince looked at the young man who was staring at him with tears on his face. "What are _you_ crying about? Get inside." Vince held the young man's head and guided him inside the patrol car. Closing the door, he gazed up to see Hank walking back to the house. Vince sighed and shook his head.

Hank surveyed the house and the surrounding areas to check that no hotspots had started or that the blaze still hadn't spread to the other units.

One last definitive shriek from the woman at her boyfriend curdled his blood and Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, for what seemed like the 100th time that day, to cool his boiling fury.

"How are your men?"

Hank jerked his head up at the sudden voice in front of him, ire roiling at the edges of what little control remained and he pierced Steiger with a look of vile animosity.

Steiger inwardly sighed and braced himself for the fight he was about to provoke. But he had little choice; he wasn't about to leave him like this… He matched Stanley's vehemence with an equal amount of calm and looked Stanley straight in the eye. "You mad at me?" Steiger asked, his tone soft and without judgment.

Captain Stanley laid one last dark look on his counterpart and started to leave.

Steiger took a step toward him. "Hank! I asked you a question."

Stanley whirled back to him, breathing hard, leveling the blond captain with an intense look as if he could bore the answer directly into Steiger's mind. But all Hank was met with was Steiger's even expression which boiled his blood all the more.

"Say it. Why're you angry with me?"

Hank huffed a breath and turned away, his hands on his hips.

Steiger stepped closer, his tone authoritative but gentle. "Say it. Why're you angry?"

Stanley rubbed at his eyes to stem the sudden flow of tears, unable to speak and unable to run; gloved fingers splayed across his face.

"C'mon. Say it."

After several moments of wavering, Hank jerked his hand down and turned to Steiger with naked fear in his watering eyes. "Dammit, Jack, _why couldn't you have gotten here sooner!_"

"Couldn't get here that fast, Hank. You know that."

"I could've—" Hank stopped, his indignation choking his words.

"Could've what? Kept your men safe? Sent my men in, instead. Is that what you were hoping?" Jack whispered the last as he peered at his colleague.

Stanley involuntarily took a breath, his mind coming to a screeching halt, shocked at hearing his thoughts echoed aloud. He swallowed hard and put his head in his hands, trying to stifle a sob of shame that had crept up within him, "God, Jack. I'm sorry…" _What the hell was I thinking?_

Steiger reached out and laid a hand on Hank's shoulder and sighed deeply, as if commiserating. "Look, Hank…I can't tell you what to do. That has to come from you or it doesn't mean a thing. But you can't go on like this. Promise me, dammit. Don't put me in that position."

Hank clenched his eyes shut, knowing full well what Steiger was hinting at. He willed control back from his tumbling emotions and nodded imperceptibly. He breathed in deep, let his hands drop and opened his eyes to Steiger's expression of compassion.

"C'mon," the blond captain gestured. "We've got overhaul to do." Steiger started for the house, then turned back to Hank without stopping, "Besides, you numbskull, you didn't answer my question."

Stanley snorted a chuckle, sniffed and slowly moved to follow after his counterpart.

**~!~**

_[some time later…]_

Cap jumped up from his office chair the minute he heard the Squad return. He stood in the doorway and watched Roy back her in. The lights and engine clicked off.

"Oh, hey Cap."

"Everything go okay at Rampart?"

"Yeah," Roy answered from inside the Squad as he added the information into the logbook then placed it back inside the glove compartment.

"Where's uh…where's Marco and John? Don't tell me they're still at Rampart? Are they gonna be okay?"

Roy got out of the Squad. "Yeah. They're gonna be just fine. But it's gonna take awhile until we know for sure when they'll return to duty."

"Why?-You just said they're gonna be fine.-Is it serious?-What's wrong with them?"

Roy hesitated, taken aback at Cap's rapid-fire questions. He deliberately answered slowly and calmly, hoping to soothe his captain's apparent edginess. "Cap, take it easy. Their injuries aren't the problem. Rampart is dealing with overflow from Harbor General after a major 30-car pile up. Since Marco and Johnny aren't on the critical list, it may take awhile before they call us. They promised they would call the minute they're examined to give us an update, but it could be anywhere from an hour to five hours, from now."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

Cap's machine-gun tapping of a finger against his pant leg didn't escape Roy's notice. "They're fine, Cap. Honest." Roy smiled and squeezed Stanley's arm, "Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Guess I'm just a little worried, you know?"

"I understand. But they're fine, believe me."

"Yeah. Okay." Hank let out a breath and grinned mirthlessly at his senior paramedic, "Thanks."

Roy's eyes lingered on his captain before he smiled reassuringly at him and made is way into the dayroom.

'…_Could've what? Kept your men safe? Sent my men in, instead. Is that what you were hoping?...'_

Stanley leaned against the Squad, breathed out, and closed a fist on his shaking hand.

**~!~**

_[Three hours later]_

Roy walked into the office to find Cap with a hand on his forehead, poring over some report, not noticing Cap's knee bouncing nervously underneath the desk.

DeSoto knocked lightly. "Uh, Cap?"

Stanley jerked up and his arm levered down as he rolled weary eyes up to his senior paramedic.

Shock and concern flittered across Roy's face at his captain's haggard expression, "That was Marco on the phone. He and Johnny are okay. Said they're ready to be picked up and get back to duty. So, I'm gonna head over there, now. Mike and Chet are working on dinner, so we'll be back in time for supper."

Hank simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak against the mixture of relief and despair that surged within him.

Roy beamed a bright smile to counter the sadness that hadn't wavered from his captain's face, "Hey, don't worry, they're okay. They're perfectly fine."

"Thanks. Hey, Roy?" Hank's voice sounded soft and thick with emotion.

"Yeah?"

"Close the door on your way out, will you?"

Roy hesitated for a moment. "Yeah. Sure."

Hank watched the door swing close on Roy's retreating figure, encasing him completely within the four walls of the office enclosure.

Beyond the door, Stanley heard the Squad door click open then bang shut. Her engine started with her characteristic high-pitched whine. The Squad's engine gunned slightly and then her low thrum gradually dissipated as Roy moved her out of the apparatus bay and down the drive.

Deflating, Stanley sagged in the chair. His hands folded in a steeple over his face and his body shook with the sobs he could no longer hold back.

**~!~**

_[later that night]_

The end credits scrolled across the television screen and the crew of 51s stretched in their chairs before rising up to put them back around the kitchen table.

Stoker got up and stretched, yawned, then set his chair back.

"Mike, did you empty out the trash, yet?"

The engineer snapped his fingers. "That's right. Sorry, Cap."

"Get to it before lights out, OK?"

"Getting to it, now, Cap."

Mike strolled into the locker room, first, before any of his shift mates hit the sack. He gathered the trash bins from the latrine, the locker rooms, and the dorm, twisting around Marco and Johnny, who had traipsed in. He consolidated all the trash into one bin, then carried it across the bay, passing Chet on his way to the dorms, and found DeSoto tying up the kitchen trash bag.

"Hey, thanks, Roy."

"Not a problem. I had kitchen duty, anyway. Hey, Mike, how did Cap seem to you this evening?"

"Okay. Well, other than his eating dinner in his office. Why?"

"You know, when I came back from Rampart, before I picked up Johnny and Marco, Cap seemed awfully worried about them. I kept trying to reassure him that they were fine, but it's like he didn't believe me."

"That's not like him."

"I'll say. I mean, we've all seen him worried when one of us gets hurt, but he almost seemed frantic."

Mike opened his mouth to respond but Cap's voice from the dorm cut him off.

"Lights out in 15!"

"Okay, Cap!" Roy shouted back.

"Let me get the trash from the office and we'll be done." Mike went to the office and peered in; everything was neat and locked up. He grabbed the rubbish bin and returned to the kitchen. He began to tip it over the main rubbish bag, then stopped and righted it, staring at the contents.

DeSoto looked over at him. "What?"

Stoker didn't answer but continued looking into the wastebasket.

Roy moved over to him, "What is it?"

The engineer looked around, reached in, grabbed a handful of phone messages out of the trash and set the bin down. He looked through them then held them out for Roy to see. "Look at this."

"What is all that?" Roy took the stack offered from Mike and casually looked through them. Eyebrows furrowed and he looked back up at Stoker. "A stack of phone messages. For Cap. What about them?"

"You know how he's been having us take messages the last few shifts?"

"Something about a statistical report he's working on."

Stoker nodded then gestured at the stack. "Look at them."

The senior paramedic rifled through the messages like a deck of cards, murmuring. "Captain Younkins, Captain Ivar, Captain Passoja, Captain Edney, Captain Drake, Captain Bittner, Kelleher, Franklin, Titus…" Roy continued to go through the messages, trying to piece together what Mike was getting at. Finally, he shrugged, "Sorry, Mike, I'm afraid you've still lost me. Wait a minute—" he peered through them again, slower, frowning as he shuffled through the stack. His head snapped up at Mike. "They're all unmarked," he noted, not having seen Cap's telltale markings of calls returned, a necessary habit in a job where interruptions – sometimes lasting hours - were commonplace.

Stoker nodded. "This is the second time I've seen unreturned phone messages for Cap in the trash can in the past week."

Roy pondered Mike's words. "These same captains?"

Mike nodded. "I think so. When I asked him about it the other day, he gave me some line about 'It's all been settled.'"

"What's all been settled?"

"Beats me. But if whatever it is has all been settled, why would they call again? And why would he dump these if he hadn't returned them, yet?"

DeSoto stared at Mike as he pondered Stoker's comment then rifled through the messages again. "92, 110, 36, 127, 29, 38, 15…" Roy went through them again, then sighed, shook his head and handed the stack back to the engineer. "I don't know, Mike. I have no idea why Cap isn't returning their phone calls. Must be some doozy of a report."

"Just based on this, Roy, I have a funny feeling that he hasn't returned _any_ messages in the past week."

"You might be right. But it could very well be something coming down from HQ or…heck, it could be any number of things. I'm not altogether sure if it's something that concerns us." Still, it _was_ odd that Cap hadn't returned phone calls to the other captains and there very well might be something to Mike's observation. Roy picked up the trash bag from the kitchen. "At least not yet," he added.

Mike nodded and picked up the office trash bin. _Yeah. Yet_…

**~!~**

Stoker turned to his side in his bunk, mashed his pillow into a more comfortable blob, then settled back against it.

He listened, as he'd gotten into the habit of doing, for Cap's breathing in the next bunk. Nothing.

Curious, Mike raised himself and looked across the way. Cap's bunk was empty. Again. Though it looked like he had slept in it. Mike listened for any sound from the latrine. Nothing.

_Son of a bitch_… Mike rolled out of bed, hiked up his bunkers and peered through the doorway window to the locker room. Everything was dark. He peered through the doorway window to the apparatus bay and saw a glow coming from the dayroom, making a silhouette of the Engine.

Mike made his way across the bay to the dayroom, squinting at the light. His eyes barely adjusted, Mike peered through the doorway window into the kitchen, but saw no one. He slowly opened the door and looked around; Henry lazily thumped his tail at him but otherwise didn't move.

Stoker looked around – nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He turned to shut off the light but saw the kitchen door to the back. Mike tried the handle and was surprised – it wasn't locked. Suspicious, he opened the door and gingerly made his way out, hunkering against the chill outside air. He scanned the parking area and started as he spotted a dark figure sitting on one of the cars – Captain Stanley's car, to be precise. Mike nearly ran back inside to call the police, but something seemed familiar about the figure and he watched the silhouette for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust back to night vision.

The figure was tall and wearing a dark, long-sleeve shirt with tan pants, sitting on the hood of the car, looking out toward the freeway.

The figure coughed, then, and Stoker realized it was Captain Stanley, himself. Mike was about to turn back inside, relieved at the solved mystery, when Cap moved. He shifted and hunched a little – Mike realized he was getting something from his jacket pocket. Then came a soft _shick_ sound, several times and a light, no, a flame, lit up Cap's face. A small red glow replaced the yellow flame and as his eyes adjusted back to night vision and the glow of the city, Mike saw Cap breathe out a puff of smoke that rose up, carried away by the light breeze into the Los Angeles night.

Mike's eyes widened in shock. He entertained the notion of walking over there but he could think of no words to say once he got there. What _could_ he say?

'_Hey, Wally, whatcha doin'? Well, golly gee, Beave, it's none of your business that I'm trying one lousy cigarette behind the school but I swear you better not tell Mom…' _

_Yeah, that'd go over real well. Cap's a big boy. It's not like he doesn't have the right to smoke if he wants to. It's weird for him, sure…but, what right do we have to say anything? Still…I'd better talk to Roy. _Sighing helplessly, Mike turned and walked back into the station.

Unaware that he'd had an audience, Cap lifted a leg onto the hood of the car, leaving the other leg dangling off the edge. He bowed his head toward his knee into the crook of his arm, the red glow just above his hair, and his body shook as he wept.


	11. Chapter 11

Emergency! characters belong to Universal and Mark VII. No copyright infringement intended. All original characters and story plot belong to Ariane Rivendell and are not to be used without permission. As always, grateful thanks to my beta readers! [chapter 11 posted 7/29/12]

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

_[Day 11: off_

_Day 12: off_

_**Day 13: 24-hour shift**]_

"Stoker! You here?"

The engineer jumped a little at Cap's echoing yell in the apparatus bay, trying to make himself heard over the rain. Setting down the coffee urn on the stove, Mike checked his shirt for the coffee drop he saw jumping like a flea from the pot – figuring it must have landed on him - and crossed the kitchen threshold into the bay. "Yeah, Cap?"

Cap came up to him between the wall map and the Squad. "Where is everybody?"

"Locker room."

"Call Charlie, will you? Cap'n Hookrader said Dietrich reported that the pressure gauge for pump 2 isn't working. _Again_. I've stood the Engine down till he comes and fixes it."

"Sure thing, Cap."

"Roll call in 10."

Mike watched Captain Stanley whirl around and return to the office. Mike's eyes fixated as the conversation summoned a memory…

…_Cap flinched violently, his eyes flying open in wild, sheer panic, breathing hard. 'You're here?'_

'_Yeah, Cap. We're here…' _

Mike breathed in sharply, eyes wide with realization. He passed through the memory again, eyes roaming the bay beneath furrowed eyebrows. Needles of disquietude descended into his gut and he felt even more urgency to talk to Roy. Voices from the dorm intruded on his thoughts leaving him no time to ponder them further. He had to relay Cap's order about roll call and put in a call to the motor pool.

Minutes later, the men of Station 51's A-shift stood in uniform and at attention in the station's apparatus bay, between the Engine and the Squad, listening morosely to the sizzle of the rain outside.

Captain Stanley emerged from his office with the enthusiasm of a kid going to the dentist, did roll and read the announcements.

"C-shift had a hell of a run, early this morning, in the rain and the mud, so I want you boys to clean out the cab, the exterior and get all the compartments cleaned and organized. Engine's stood down till Charlie gets here to fix that gauge," he ordered, pointing at the dirt-encrusted Engine behind them.

"Uh, Cap," Roy piped up, "Johnny and I are gonna have to do a 10-8 to Rampart right after roll call –"

"Go right ahead. But you two are gonna help with the Engine, when you get back."

"Not a problem, Cap. Wasn't trying to get of it," he jovially remarked.

Stanley ripped Roy a look of sheer indignation, eyes narrowing for a moment until he finally glanced away. "When that's done, we need to go over the list of fire code violations that B-shift found at that auto repair place over on Bellevue. Oh, and I forgot to mention that C-shift had to call in a plumber for a leak in the latrine. They say it was fixed, but keep an eye out for any leaks."

He dismissed his men and then retreated back into his office.

The crew of Station 51 slowly broke formation, eyeing each other with shared empathy, but not knowing what to say amid the heavy air of Cap's surly mood. Roy and Johnny languidly made their way to the Squad for their morning radio and calibration check with Rampart. Stoker headed into the kitchen to check on their food rations while Marco and Chet started gathering supplies to clean the Engine.

"What the hell was that look he gave you?" Johnny whispered to his partner.

"What look?"

"'What look'. I swear, you can be dense, sometimes. The one he just gave you when you said you weren't tryin' to get out of cleaning the Engine."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't know. That was kinda weird, wasn't it?"

"Kinda? Looked for a moment like he was gonna bust you back to the Academy." Johnny made a face and opened the compartment to get the biophone.

"When you're done with the calibration check, we'll head over to Rampart."

"Which ones did Hansen say got mixed up?"

"The lidocaine, diazepam and the ringers and the MS. I've got the list right here," Roy said patting his shirt pocket but feeling it empty. "Actually, I think I left it in the kitchen."

DeSoto headed back to the dayroom, hoping he'd soothed his partner's curiosity about Cap. _Of course_ he'd seen that look Cap had thrown him – how could he not have? And it seemed to him, it was nearly that same look Cap had snapped at him and Mike in the kitchen the other day when Mike wondered whether Cap was looking in the fridge for the milk. For the sake of morale, however, he wanted to downplay any odd behavior on Cap's part until he had a chance to talk to Stoker.

Roy grabbed the list he left on the table and stuffed it into his pocket. As he started back toward the Squad, he heard his shift mates' voices by the closet near the kitchen door.

"It's gonna be a long shift. Again," Marco commented by the kitchen door, rags bundled in his arms.

"I wish we knew what was eating at him. All this last week or so he's been a grumpy hard-ass. I mean, you don't think he's angry with us, do you?" Chet asked, grabbing another can of cleaners.

"Well, I think if he were angry with us, we'd know about it. No, this is something different," Marco replied.

_I'd better nip this in the bud_. Roy headed out to circumvent any further speculation and rumors about Cap or at least quell any open discussion until he and Mike had a chance to put their heads together.

"Hey, Roy, what do you think Cap's trip is?" Chet asked DeSoto as he stood in the kitchen doorway.

Roy leaned conspiratorially over to them – flicking a quick glance at Johnny who was quietly sneaking over – and so didn't catch the warning looks from Chet and Marco as he spoke. "Hey guys, look, I don't know what his trip is, but let's leave it be, okay? For now. Let's wait to talk about it some other time."

"Talk about what, Roy?" Cap was at his elbow.

DeSoto jumped as he whirled back to see the stern expression of his captain. "Oh. Sorry, Cap. Kinda snuck up on me, there," DeSoto smiled and tried to sound casual.

Captain Stanley just looked at him.

"Oh, uh, we were just wondering about that auto repair shop you mentioned earlier. I was just saying that, uh, well, you know, instead of conjecturing about what those violations were that you mentioned that we should just wait until, you know, we, uh, we actually discuss it and then we'll know what the uh, the concerns are, instead of, you know, wondering…about them."

"OK. Can I get past you now? I'd like to get in there and grab some coffee."

"Oh yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry, Cap." Roy moved from the kitchen doorway to let the captain by, then let out a breath, rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall.

Marco smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. 'Nice save', Chet mouthed as he Marco started for the Engine.

Johnny and Roy exchanged glances. "C'mon, partner. Let's get to Rampart before you put a foot in it," Gage grabbed Roy's arm and steered him back to the Squad.

**~!~**

Roy flapped the bedsheet in the air and started to lay it over Johnny's bunk. He was hoping to get some time to talk to Mike about Cap this shift. His days off had been filled with errands, family time and home repairs and he hadn't had time to ponder anything Mike had told him at the dinner at Manny's. Other than Cap's sniping at he and Mike in the kitchen last shift, he couldn't think of anything else that'd happened to pique his curiosity. He turned at the sound of footsteps to see Mike Stoker walk in to the dorm.

"Hey, Roy?" Stoker looked around to ensure they were alone.

With a slight frown, Roy followed the engineer's lead, not knowing precisely what he was looking around for. "Hey, Mike. Is Charlie still here?"

"No, he just left. We need to talk. Something underhanded is going on around here. Something to do with Cap."

The bedsheet in Roy's hand deflated and his face immediately matched the engineer's anxious expression. "Well, I know we figured there's something going on with Cap, but…underhanded? You think whatever is going on is being done on purpose to undermine him?"

"No, that's not it. Maybe underhanded isn't quite the word. More like sneaky, I guess."

Roy's internal alarms began to ring a little louder, "What do you mean? You find any more phone messages?"

"No. Not yet anyway. But that's only part of it." Mike looked around again.

DeSoto's ears perked up. "Okay. What else is going on?"

"Remember that TA over at Deadman's Dip, when those two boys stole the ambulance that overturned?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"When you and John were getting the kids out, Captain Steiger had Cap on 86s running board. Like Cap wasn't feeling well or something."

"Well what was wrong with him?"

"I couldn't hear anything they were saying at the time. But when I asked Cap about it later, he said he had felt dizzy. But I don't buy it, Roy. If he really had felt dizzy, why didn't Captain Steiger have you guys check him out? When I noticed he had Cap sitting on the running board, Steiger just looked at me and told me to take over the rescue operation, like he was trying to get me to leave them alone."

Roy's eyes narrowed as he pondered that for a moment, considering it in context to Mike's observation about things being sneaky. "Like you saw something you weren't supposed to."

Stoker nodded.

Roy leaned against the brick divider, "Are you sure you didn't just happen upon a private conversation?"

"They weren't just talking, Roy. Captain Steiger was holding onto Cap like he expected him to fall right over."

"Well that's unusual," Roy muttered, wracking his brain for other explanations but coming up short. "Is that all? Just that and the phone messages?"

"Did you notice him at the dinner at Manny's?"

A small, devilish smile crept onto Roy's lips. "Well, I noticed he was there. But I know you were watching him. That's how you dragged me into this looney caper of yours, remember?"

"You better watch it, Roy. I gave the men in white coats your phone number."

"Don't tell Joanne. She'll help them put on the straitjacket."

The two men chuckled, glad to have something ebb away the increasing tension.

Roy folded his arms, "So what did you notice at Manny's that you didn't bother to tell me then?"

"Well, just that he seemed distant, you know? When Chef was preparing the salads, Cap was staring at the table the whole time. Even when he first walked in he seemed…nervous, I guess. Like a probie on their first day on shift."

DeSoto smiled. "_I'm_ usually nervous around Captain Hookrader and C-shift. But none of that sounds very sneaky, Mike."

"Even if Captain Hookrader is hovering around you without trying to make it look like he's hovering around you?"

Roy moved himself away from the wall, "You think that's what it was?"

Mike shrugged. "He followed Cap. And they were gone for quite awhile. That one waitress, Lisa? She said she saw them go out back."

DeSoto's eyes widened at the memory…

…_Stanley pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. Then in one sudden movement, he moved the chair back as he rose, and walked quickly across the room, seemingly following Mike's previous path to the Men's Room._

_Roy started to push his chair back to go after him, sensing something off-kilter in Cap's manner as he watched him move across the room. But a hand stayed him. DeSoto looked and noticed Mike's hand on his arm, then followed Mike's gaze to Hookrader, who was trailing after Cap. The two senior men of A-shift exchanged a glance, both keeping a wary eye toward the hall…_

Roy held Mike's eyes as he went through their list. "Captain Steiger covering for Cap, Captain Hookrader—" Roy's eyes narrowed. "The phone messages from all those captains…"

Mike nodded.

Roy rested an arm up along the top of the divider, a loose fist against his mouth. "That's all been within the past week and a half or so, hasn't it?"

"Yup."

"You know, it might be that he's just worried about Captain Kachowski's wife."

"I thought about that, Roy. But something Cap said this morning made me remember –"

"Where the _hell_ is everybody!"

The two firefighters jumped at Cap's voice in the bay right outside the door. Roy grabbed the bedsheet that he didn't remember dropping as Stanley burst into the dorm to see his two senior men.

"Mike, where the hell is Charlie?"

"Oh, uh, he left, Cap."

Stanley's hands splayed out, "Was somebody gonna bother telling me? I need to put the Engine back in service!"

"Sorry, Cap. I thought he told you he was leaving."

"'Sorry, Cap.' That's all I hear around here, anymore. Roy, are you done?"

"Uh, not quite. Just finishing up mine and Johnny's bunks."

"Well, hurry it up. I want to get started on those violations on that auto repair shop."

"Hurrying it up, Cap."

"Yeah, swell," Stanley muttered and he turned on his heel and stormed out as quickly as he'd stormed in.

Roy re-laid the sheet on his partner's bunk. "Guess we'll have to finish this later."

Stoker nodded ruefully and headed for the latrine.

**~!~**

_[dinner time]_

The Squad backed in to the bay and Cap saw his paramedics get out as he sat in his office perusing through HQ's latest needs assessment statistics for their district. Johnny's voice echoed in the bay, his complaining tone barely registering to the focused captain.

Minutes later a soft knocking sounded and his view of the familiar red truck became eclipsed by the figure of Marco at the door. "Chow is on, Cap."

"Yeah, thanks." Cap rose, ready to follow his lineman, but aimed for the latrine, instead.

As he entered the bathroom area, he noticed the blue silhouette of a uniform on a hangar hanging inside the shower stall, a patch of yellow on a sleeve, and the sound of water dripping. He turned and saw Gage at his locker donning a uniform shirt and his hair looked wet. Cap's feet shuffled to a stop as he took it all in. "What happened to _you?_"

Johnny threw his captain a disdainful look. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," the young medic breathed in resignation as he buttoned up a clean shirt.

Stanley sighed and headed into the latrine.

Gage realized it too late and his eyes widened in alarm. "Cap, don't–!"

His warning cry was lost amid Cap's surprised shout. Johnny's heart stopped when muffled thumps and groans were heard.

"**KELLY!" **

As if on cue, Chet appeared at the locker room doorway with a mop, "Oh no…" He and Johnny exchanged a panicked look of horror before both men raced into the latrine area to check on their captain.

The mustachioed Irishman swallowed hard at the image of his captain picking himself up on all fours and whipping water off his hands. "Son of a bitch!"

"Oh, no no no no… Aw hell, Cap…" Kelly threw the mop to the side and moved to help him up, but Cap yanked his arm from his underling's grasp. "Cap, I'm sorry. I was just coming to clean it up–"

"This is a _fire station_, Kelly! Not a circus! In case you haven't noticed, it is inherently _dangerous_ to have water on tile! This stops right here and now," Stanley growled, wiping his hands on his uniform pants. "You will _stay_ here and _mop_ this up – !"

"Of course, Cap – "

"And you will spend the entire rest of the shift _cleaning_ this latrine until lights out! _Is that understood!_"

Johnny and Chet threw appalled, quizzical looks at each other and came to the same conclusion at the same time, but it was Johnny who dared challenge Cap's order. "Um…Cap – ?"

Captain Stanley barely turned his head, his eyes at the corners. "Does it look like I am talking to you, Gage?"

"Uh…no, sir…"

"Then butt out." Stanley's eyes slid back to his unmoving lineman. "_Is that understood, Kelly?_"

"Perfectly…Cap." Chet's hangdog expression peered up at his superior.

Stanley roughly grabbed some towels out of the dispenser and briskly wiped himself off. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like some privacy."

"Sure, Cap," both men said nearly in unison and stepped out toward the locker area.

Johnny's expression was stormy as he thrust a pointed finger in Cap's direction, "Chet, you need to tell him!"

"Tell him what, Gage? In about two seconds, he'll figure out that it's the leak that C-shift supposedly had fixed."

Johnny threw the confidently smiling Kelly a suspicious look. Chet turned and walked back to the latrine area. Equal parts curious and protective, Johnny slowly followed and walked in just as Cap crossed the room to leave.

"Don't help him, John. That's an order." And Cap was out the door.

Gage's anger skyrocketed and he threw Kelly a thunderous look, "I'm gonna tell 'im." He started after Captain Stanley, but in a flash, Chet placed himself between Johnny and the door.

"Leave it alone, Gage—"

"Like hell, Chet—"

"Look, just leave it alone, alright?"

"Well, how is that fair? You're not responsible for that water being there!"

"You really think he's gonna care, John? Right now, he just wants to blame somebody. The minute he thinks he's wrong, it'll make his mood worse." Chet smoothed the front of his shirt, "No, better he thinks he's solved the problem than make everyone's life – and by that I mean mine – more miserable."

"Kelly…"

"Look, it's not gonna matter what I say. In the state he's in, he's gonna believe what he wants to believe."

"Chet – !"

"Gage, I'm tellin' ya, just leave it alone. I mean, after all, it's only water. It's really no big deal. So stay out of it before your nose puts mine permanently to the grindstone."

"No big deal? What about the next time, Chet? Huh? What then? Is he gonna make you clean the Engine all by yourself because Mike ran through a mud puddle?"

"Gage! Drop it, already!"

Johnny visibly backed off and held his hands up, "Okay. Alright. Fine."

Chet breathed out and spread his arms apart, "I swear, John, you're like a mutt that's never been fed a bone before. You just can't let it go, can you?" Chet sighed heavily and went to retrieve the mop.

"I am not a mutt! And for your information, I _am_ letting it go. I mean, go right ahead! Spend the entire night cleaning the latrine. I don't care!"

"Fine! So take your non-caring attitude and beat it!"

"Alright! I'm leaving!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Hey fellas!" Marco was standing in the locker room doorway. "Didn't you hear me calling you? Chow's on. C'mon!"

Chet threw the mop down and stomped out, glaring at Johnny before brushing past his fellow lineman. Johnny huffed and glared after him, in turn, before stalking past the Hispanic.

"Ay karamba," Marco grimaced and followed his angry shift mates.

**~!~**

_[some hours later]  
><em>

_ka-plock! ka-plock! ka-plock! ka-plock!...ka-plock!…plack!..._

Roy caught the ping-pong ball on its upward bounce from the floor and turned back to the ping-pong table. His eyes searched around to ensure no one else was in the apparatus bay. Then they settled on his opponent. Roy gave a slight gesture of his head toward the open back bay door and Stoker nodded in acknowledgement.

DeSoto threw the ball over the net back to Mike.

"5 serving 3," Mike said and served.

_ka-plock! ka-plock! ka-plock! ka-plock!...plack, plack, plack, plack, plack…_

"I'll get it," Stoker said and ran after the ping-pong ball that was headed out to the parking lot.

Roy looked around then followed the tall engineer.

"Did Marco or Johnny talk to you?" Roy asked as Mike traipsed over to his truck, walking slowly to allow DeSoto to catch up.

"No. You know what the fighting was about?"

"Yeah." Roy settled next to Mike against the truck's bumper. "According to Johnny, Cap slipped on the water that was leaking outta the tank in the latrine, and _he_ figured that Cap assumed that Chet had gotten Johnny with another water balloon prank."

Mike bobbled the ball in his hand, "How'd he figure that?"

"Because Cap walked in when Johnny was changing his uniform. Johnny figured Cap put two and two together and assumed he got four."

"Why _was_ he changing his shirt?"

"The mother vomited on him."

"Not the kid?"

Roy grinned, "Do you believe it?"

"If it's Gage, I believe it."

"I guess the mom was a lot more queasy about seeing that fracture than her son, was."

Mike simply nodded. "So what else did Johnny say?"

"Well, Chet walked in about then with the mop and so I guess Cap figured a Chet prank was responsible for the water on the floor. He ordered latrine duty on Kelly right then and there. Needless to say, Johnny was pretty miffed, threatened to tell Cap the truth, but Chet didn't want to make a fuss. Probably smart with Cap's mood today. Johnny figured 'nothin' doin'' and the fight escalated from there."

"So Chet's still in there?"

Roy looked over to the door to the latrine. "Yeah."

Mike sighed and leaned back against his truck and looked out as if thinking.

Roy absently twirled the paddle in his hands. "Earlier, when we were in the dorm, you started to say something. But then Cap walked in. Do you remember what you were gonna say?"

Mike sighed again, shoved off his bumper then turned and put his foot on it. "Did you know he's taken up smoking?"

Roy's eyes narrowed as he looked at the tall engineer, "How do you know he's taken up smoking?"

"I saw him. Last shift."

"Where?"

"Out here, in the parking lot."

Roy pondered that then half shrugged and twirled the paddle again. "Well, I still think he's just worried about Captain Kachowski. I've never known him to be a smoker, but who's to say he can't do that if he wants. It's certainly not the best way to handle stress, but –"

"Roy, it was early in the morning. Before dawn. Like he was sneaking it. I guess I was too tired for it to have hit me at the time, but after I came back to bed, I realized that I've never seen him smoking during shift. But it seemed like he hadn't just started, either."

"Hold on. Start from the beginning. When did you say this happened?"

Stoker relayed to Roy the events of the early morning from their last shift and his seeing Cap sitting on his car, lighting up.

"I kinda smelled it on him a little past couple of shifts. But I figured maybe Judy had started or it was Cap'n Kachowski. I know Cap's been spending a lot of time at their place, helping out and all that. Figured maybe he'd picked it up from him."

"I guess that's not the case. Alright, Mike, so what do we have? Cap smoking, Captain Hookrader at Manny's, that apparent dizzy episode with Captain Steiger, right, at that ambulance rescue?" Roy ticked off each observance on his fingers.

Mike nodded.

"What else?"

"Cap's mood sucks."

Roy nodded empathetically. "Yeah, well, there seems to be a few instances of that. What else?"

"The phone messages."

"You're right. The phone messages. And then that thing with Kelly, tonight. So the question is, when did all this start?"

Both men stared into the Los Angeles night, pondering over the events of the previous week and a half. The light breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby bushes, their gentle sound overrun by the occasional traffic. The senior paramedic glanced at the night sky, the rain and clouds finally clearing after blocking the Southern California sun for most of the day.

_The rain…_

Roy shifted against Mike's truck. "Hey, y'know…"

Mike shifted serious eyes from the 405 to the blond firefighter, "What?"

Roy's eyes held the engineer as he cajoled the memory out of vagueness. "I just remembered. 'Bout a week ago…maybe it was longer, you remember when Johnny made hot dogs and burgers? And Cap came in and complained that there weren't any left?"

Stoker's eyes narrowed as his own memory tried to catch up with Roy's. "Yeah…Johnny ended up making him an extra special burger."

"Yeah. Johnny delivered it to Cap in his office, even though he was on the phone. When he came back, I was helping him clean up the grill. Johnny seemed a little upset and when I asked him what happened, he said he thought Cap was crying."

A raised eyebrow was the only indication of his surprise, "Cap was crying?"

"According to Johnny."

Stoker thought for a moment. "Maybe that's when he found out about Captain Kachowski's wife?"

Roy glanced at Mike and then his eyes roamed about. "Yeah. Maybe. When was that, about the same time, wasn't it?"

"Think so. You know, Roy, I've been noticing that Cap's been having a hard time sleeping, lately. In fact, he wakes me up. Every time we're on shift."

"Breathing kinda funny?"

"Yeah. He wake you up, too?"

"Once before. Figured it was just a one-time thing, but I guess, since you're closer to him, you'd notice it more. He's been doing that every shift?"

"So far."

"Okay. So it sounds like he's really stressed over Captain Kachowski."

Mike bounced the ping-pong ball in his hand for long moments. "Maybe. But it still doesn't explain those phone messages."

Roy deflated as he considered that piece of the puzzle. "You said you noticed it twice. When was the first time?"

Stoker bounced the ping-pong ball off the bumper of his truck as he extracted that particular memory. One bounce got away from him and he ran after it. "I think it was about a week ago," he said upon his return and tossed the ball to Roy.

Roy caught the ball, reaching for it as a gust of wind threatened to veer it off-course, "Well, maybe that's something else, entirely. I mean, maybe we're putting clues together that don't really belong together."

Stoker made a face. "I doubt it, Roy. There's something else – "

The klaxons sounded, calling the Engine to a fire at the auto repair shop on Bellevue that they'd just spent that day talking about.

The Engine crew would later return to find the paramedics fast asleep.

**~!~**

_Mike backed the Engine in, keeping an eye each on the Squad backing in next to them and the wall of the bay. Chet and Marco slid off the rig and, exhausted, shuffled to the showers with Roy and Johnny trudging in after them. _

_Stoker looked over to the officer's seat and saw Cap leaning against the door, dozing. "Cap? We're here." No response. Stoker shook him, "We're here, Cap."_

_Cap flinched, his eyes flying open in startled, sheer panic. 'You're here?' _

_It was a wild, desperate tone and Cap pawed at Stoker with his left hand, as if to reassure himself he was there, nearly using his engineer as leverage to pull himself to an upright position._

_Mike grabbed Hank's hand and pulled him up, 'Yeah, Cap. We're here...' _

Hank Stanley's panting breathing woke him up again. It seemed louder, tonight. Stoker rubbed an eye, scratched at his hairline and propped himself up on one elbow, wondering, again, if anyone else was awake.

Cap moved, then, turning over and shifting restlessly. He finally pushed back the sheets and got up.

Stoker guessed this seemingly new routine. Into the bathroom. Run the sink. Take a shower. Get dressed. Into his office.

Sure enough…

He looked at the clock. 5:11. Right on cue. The darkness before the dawn.

But a new sound this morning. Stoker listened. Rustling. Someone else _was_ awake. A bunk squeaked and footsteps padded past his sleeping area, following the captain.

DeSoto.

Roy slowly entered the bathroom area, squinting at the light.

Hank spotted him in the mirror and nodded, "Roy."

"Mornin'."

"You're up early."

Roy flashed a friendly smile. "I could say the same about you, Cap."

"Yeah, well, couldn't sleep. No use fighting it. Besides, it's a good chance to get some work done before B-shift comes in."

_Yeah, I know you "couldn't sleep". _The senior paramedic hesitated, frowning.

The captain eyed him. "Something on your mind, Roy?"

"Cap…?"

Stanley straightened at the sink then leaned against it, waiting.

Roy looked everywhere else before gathering up the nerve to look his captain in the eye. "Is there, uh…is there anything you want to…you want to talk about?"

Stanley's eyes furrowed. "Roy, it's 5 in the morning!"

_Well, what better time is there, Cap? You seem to avoid us the rest of the time.._.

"Can this wait?"

_No, it can't._ Roy paused. "Yeah…yeah, it can…it can wait."

"OK." Hank started his morning routine again, but realized Roy was still there. Hank stopped and looked at DeSoto in the mirror with some irritation. "Anything else?"

"No."

Stanley frowned and turned to face his senior paramedic, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Cap."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." _Are __you__?_

"OK. Well, if, uh, if there's nothing else, I'd like to finish getting ready. If…if you don't mind."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry, Cap." Roy smiled apologetically, ducked away and headed back to the sleeping quarters. As he returned to his bunk, Johnny turned over and looked at him, questioningly. Roy shook his head. Johnny sighed and slapped back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling.


End file.
